


Plants, Potions, Passion, Promises

by evelynsmiath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Awkward Romance, Bottom Severus Snape, Brown-haired reader, Christmas Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Herbology, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff Reader, Insecurity, Light Dom/sub, Romance, Secret Relationship, Severus Snape - Freeform, Shy Severus Snape, Top Severus Snape, Virgin Severus Snape, Young Severus Snape, brown eyed reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynsmiath/pseuds/evelynsmiath
Summary: 1986 brings its own charm into the lives of a young Severus Snape and an even younger Hufflepuff girl with a studious interest in Herbology. From their interest in the ingredients and recipes of potions blossoms an unorthodox friendship that quickly turns romantic.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Reader, Severus/Reader
Comments: 80
Kudos: 151





	1. Intro

  
  


_November 1986_

It was no use. She closed the book and pressed her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose and tipped her head against the window. Even through her efforts, her headache persisted. She hoped it wouldn’t stay for dinner. Peeking through her lids, she squinted against the dusk reflecting off the lake, blurring the line between the shore and yellowing grass that swept across the window. Though the pane was shut tight, the smell of rain was intoxicating. Rain was wonderful and fresh. Rain was brightening, encasing the foliage at the edges of the forest in fish-nets of moisture. Rain was…not as great as snow, though. Especially the snow here. Away from the bustle of the city, the mounds stay fresh and white.  
A door slammed and a voice called her name, pulling the girl out of her reverie. Having been startled, she stumbled from the circular sill, catching the lip of it and hanging, her book crashing onto one of the tables. The voice, belonging to her bunkmate, cried out.  
“What are you doing up there!?”  
Without replying, the brunette pulled herself as much as she could to snatch her wand before jumping down. The height wasn’t much of a concern, but her arm was sore now and she massaged it.  
“I’m so sorry!” the bunkmate, Clair, blubbered. “I know you go up there and-well, are you alright? Blimey, what if you hadn’t caught yourself? Why don’t you ever read in the dorms?”  
“I’m alright,” she quickly reassured, wishing Clair wouldn’t fuss about anything.  
Clair Woodmen was her name and she’d been the closest of the girl’s companions. They met their first day at Hogwarts and hadn’t bothered to familiarize themselves with very many other people since. She wasn’t about to apologize for giving Clair a scare, rather she gathered her things and the two made their way to dinner, the headache dissipating with the daylight.  
  


~[…]~  
  


Her mind was awake before her eyes were open. Something that made the Autumn and Winter season unbearable was the dying of the daylight. Waking up early seem so much more enjoyable when the sky was awake, too. Even so, she rubbed her eyes and felt around on her nightstand for her wand.  
“ _Lumos_ ,” she mumbled, then cringed against the strain of her eyes, correcting, “ _Lumos minima_ ”.  
The Hufflepuff commons was so peaceful so early in the morning. Even though the house was one of the mellower crowds, moments alone were cherished. The brunette noticed the plant was replaced in her spot at the right-most window and thought about hopping up there for a few until the rest of the dorms arose but decided to lounge on the honey-colored couch.  
The dining hall was as beautiful as ever, adorned with enchanted falling leaves that seemed to dissipate before disturbing the students below and lanterns casting a warm glow all around. A few other early-risers had accompanied her on her way to breakfast and the moderate group dispersed to their respective tables upon entering. All she could think about was food. Sizzling breakfast links, warm, buttery, flaky biscuits slathered with thick, creamy sausage gravy, and light, fluffy waffles on the side! Where to start?! Bacon was a must. Oatmeal, of course, with her favorite fruit! And she couldn’t start her day without her essential hot beverage.  
As students entered the hall, their shadows cast across her meal one by one, momentarily interrupting the glowing scenery out the window opposite her. Chatter filled the room like the rising of the tide and the change in the atmosphere seemed more pleasant after she had gotten some food in her.  
At the other end of the hall, the professors sat, entering as the morning progressed. In the center sat the great headmaster. His eyes twinkled looking across the room at students, catching some of their eyes between conversations with his neighbors, giving an acknowledging wave. Her heart seemed to lift at the sight of her favorite professor, however: Professor Beery.  
She and the master had grown quite close in the past year, Herbology a growing interest for the young witch. So inspired was she by Beery that she herself had been working towards an education position in Herbology. This year was the year. If she played her O.W.L.’s right, she might be on track to pursue such a field, even though it certainly wasn’t as difficult as some other careers.  
Lost in thoughts of the next Herbology class (today, first class), her eyes wandered to another professor who’d entered. Professor Severus Snape. His thin frame slid into the empty seat beside Professor Beery, his head turned down. His long, slim arms reached up to adjust his dark cloak around his shoulders, then across the table for morsels here and there. She couldn’t see anything clearly from this distance, but the sight of long, slim fingers plucking silver tongs here and individually wrapped pastries there was inevitable. Beery tilted his head and spoke to the other. Snape nodded, replying, and from there they continued the exchange.  
“Oh! I’m starved!” Clair plopped down beside her, snapping her gaze from the faculty table. She grinned at Clair and downed the rest of her beverage, which had gone cold.  
“How did you sleep?” She asked the blonde.  
“Alright. I’m _not_ excited for classes today. It’s such bullocks our off days are so late in the week. What about you?”  
“Fairly well,” the brunette replied, honestly. “Wish the daylight came sooner.”

~[…]~ 

After Herbology and a quick break for a snack, the day felt much more bearable. She realized she’d felt this way for a while, though. There was something comforting about that simple, elegant greenhouse that put a skip in her step. Beery was always kind to her and whenever she wanted to stay after the class had left, he let her. It was peaceful, too. Hardly any of the hustle and bustle of the castle around her. And Herbology work was quite serene, as well.  
Taking her in the great dungeons, waiting for double potions to begin, she opened her borrowed copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ with reminisces of the great Mallowsweet leaves brushing against her as she walks across the dirty, tiled floor in the jungle of a greenhouse.  
“Silence,” a baritone voice snaked its way through the moderate din of the potions room. The brunette lifted her head to see Professor Snape standing stiffly in front of his desk. He didn’t project very much and, in response, the brook of voices dimmed marginally and a few students made their way to their seats whilst finishing their sentences. “Class has begun. Take your seats _now_.” The man practically spat the last word, which cut through the din in one, swift slice, silencing the students almost as fast. No one ran, but there was an appropriate hustle made throughout the room, the last sounds being the chorus of chairs scraping against the irregular cobblestone floor. When the room had completely silenced and all eyes were upon him, he began.  
“As we continue to work through the Wit-Sharpening Potion, it would be wise to revisit the Strengthening Solution essay, due by the end of class next Monday after the potions this week are completed and assessed.” He continued on while making his way over to the window, his arms folded delicately behind his back. In this light, he looked more mature than he probably was, which was certainly in his mid-to-late twenties.  
The young Hufflepuff was closest to the window, in the front of the class, so every detail of him was very clear, being less than two or so meters from her. Grey-blue light from the window cast harsh shadows across his face while dark eyes took in the sight of the grounds, the grass pressed against the window, like in the Hufflepuff commons. The base of his cheekbone and slim bridge of his nose seemed to sink deeper into his face, shying from the light, a single, soft triangle illuminated at his jaw where the settled dawn was just able to touch the left side of his face. Although his words told us assignments and expectations, guidance and advisory, his face always seemed lost. Deep, thin eyebrows were set firmly atop his eyelids, which were dropped lower than usual, his eyes straining slightly against the harsh light. Thin, but surprisingly long, eyelashes brushed against the bridge of his brows. Slender lips were set in a deep, yet natural, frown whenever they weren’t moving. When they did, they seemed to do so barely. In this light, he looked impossibly monochromatic. Not a tint of red or pink in sight. Skinny, long fingers untwined from behind his back and the fingertips of one hand came up to just barely touch the inner wooden frame of the window. Leaning forward slightly, his head turned and the light caught his deep irises differently, the half orbs a light and milky grey. He paused for a moment and the tip of a pink tongue flicked out briefly to moisten the center heart of his lips, the only part that really parted when he spoke. The action caught her, the color scheme disturbed. His head swiveled quickly, but without jerking, to the other side of the room, his eyes settling on a student. With his face away from the light, the entire profile nearly meshed into one, with the piercing figure of his brows and irises locked on a housemate of hers who had his eyes glued to the window.  
“Hence, what should be the first ingredient considered today, Mr.Rennell?”  
The boy sat up straighter, his eyes flitting to the professor. Clearing his throat, he furrowed his brow and looked down at his desk in thought for a moment.  
“Ginger roots…sir?” came the reply, turning his head back up, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. The room looked to Professor Snape for his response, with his lips were pursued fractionally and one eyebrow was quirked. Nevertheless, he responded with confirmation and the whole room seemed to sigh internally. At the head of the class, he gave no reaction, he simply continued lecturing before we began setting up the cauldrons to work.


	2. Plants and Papers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is here! But, it looks like she'll be spending much more time in the classrooms than she'd hoped

_December 1986_  
The first thing she noticed was the smell. Her bright eyes flew open. Forgetting she had overslept terribly, she tumbled out of the tame, daffodil sheets and quilt and hoisted herself onto the dresser below the half-moon windows. She stood on her toes, fingers gripping the smooth, cedar pane. The girl was just able to slip her nose over the skinny sill and look past the growing white-blue mound blanketing a third of the window.   
Snow was here. Winter was here!   
Winter had been late.   
But she was quick to forgive and stumbled off to rush to her chest and layer up under her uniform. It was almost just her luck that she had only one class third hour and tomorrow was off, then the weekend!   
Angels, forts, fights, warm beverages for the next two months! Cold noses, soaking calves where her boots and snow coat refused to meet, the scrap of the biting wind along the inside of her throat as she ran across the field to the castle back from Hogsmeade. She wanted it all. A warmth seemed to overtake her soul and her smile dusted itself off for a double shift today.   
In the common room, there were a few students engaged in a variety of activities from reading to sketching to card games. She couldn’t spot Clair, so knew she must already be at breakfast. There wasn’t a particular amount of chatter, but the hum of voices was comforting and familiar. The snowing sky shrouded the commons in an arctic hue, bringing out the rich emerald of the plants all around and tinting the sea of yellow, the cottage-like room its own flavor of a greenhouse.   
The greenhouse!   
She waved at a girl who had looked up from her book and started off through the barrels. It was fortunate that the Hufflepuff commons wasn’t far from the dining hall, she thought as she hurried through the halls outside the kitchen. Dumping her thick coat, just outside the entrance to the dining hall, she hurried in and snagged a napkin. Wrapping up drop scones, she wolfed down a few links, burning her tongue, and popped a small apple in her mouth. Doubling up on the napkins around the cakes, she hurried back out and shouldered her jacket on, making for the exit.   
The dense air of the greenhouse engulfed her upon entry. Hot moisture swept across her like a mother’s hands, brushing her hair back from her face and sliding around the backs of her ears to cup her jaw. In contrast, the sharp, winter air shoved her forward, wishing to rid itself of her. Finally completing the bite of apple her teeth had half-held on the way there, and licking the saliva accumulated around the depression, she toed the door close.  
“Pr-fessa?” she called, folding her coat by the door. At the other end of the house, a head popped up from behind the door frame to his office.  
“You found me, little miss!” he cried with a grin, his right eye enlarged, the spectacles upon his nose adorned with their attachments for detailed study.  
“Yes, I assumed you’d be in 3 because of the…the…” she replied after swallowing then paused to take another bite, clawing for the name to complete her thought.  
“Joint-vetches?” he offered.  
“Mmm-hmm!” He smiled at her briefly when she entered his office, turning to where her gardening things were.  
“Close…but we should be more concerned with the Hart’s-tongue ferns in house 2, yes? The sixth years have their finals coming up and Professor Snape has conveniently set Veritaserum as the potion to conquer, yet again taking advantage of the winter break for the brewing period.” Professor Beery wasn’t one to support the teaching of such forceful creations. She didn’t have to turn to see his pressed lips and furrowed brow to know they were there.   
Normally, he was quite excitable, but not when he truly worked. Beery was a simple, loving man. He was enchanted by the existence of nature, a marvel at life. Poisons, truth serums, tricks, and unruly games? If he was capable of hate, he was only so towards the perpetuation of hurt through nature.   
Securing the leather apron around her waist, she made her way to his side and studied his project, fitting the remains of the apple in her mouth. The mallowsweet on his desk before him had several swollen, wet leaves, the affected areas a deep green.   
“It’s my fault, you know,” He mumbled touching the areas with some cheesecloth. “If I’d checked before I left yesterday…I could’ve pulled them from the window.”   
She smiled fondly at the back of his head and placed her hand briefly on his shoulder. Such a brilliant man would be thought to also carry the same mercy of understanding for himself. Ever unsure of what to say, she contented listening to him, an occasional reassuring hand offered. He cared and that’s what mattered. Letting him know where she would be, she rushed back into the cold, making sure to leave a couple of the scones on his desk. 

~[…]~

She had to have been missing something. That was all she could think as she tested the resistance of the flesh of her bottom lip with her teeth. The dying, afternoon light pressed through the windows catching her every few paces, pinning her shadow against the wall opposite the window then jumping away from her when a wall came between them. If she were to run swift enough, she might be able to catch the slide-like flashes fast enough, engulfing herself in a continuous fleeting light. If there was enough track to be had.   
The girl checked her little silver and leather watch. Time was certainly on her side, so she supposed she could walk slower. No use loitering, wasting time outside the potions room. After only one class today, she thought she’d have more time. But, with the morning spent in the greenhouses, almost late for potions, and not to mention her slack in Divination, she’d seen the day go almost as abruptly as it had come. Looking to the smooth, grey tiles of the hall she strode through, she thought about all she wanted to accomplish before the end of the semester. The real struggle always was how to remember them…  
By the time she made it to the appropriate area in the dungeons, she was already passing first-year Gryffindors. They chattered along, many were polite in giving her passage, others were more than eager to distance themselves as much as they could from the vials of dried animals, musty air, and “undesirable company”, encouraging her in the opposite direction with their bodies. Once the sea had dispersed, she found herself at the shut door. Lungs filled, jaw set…lips pursued. She should check just once more. Digging in her satchel for the essay, the production hardly tarnished the hundredth revision. The format was almost always something she mussed. As she looked over the text once more the door flew open, kicking her hair to the side and across her face unceremoniously.   
The voice of the man across the room at his desk made its way to her, acknowledging her presence with her appropriate prefix and surname; the words set forth in the intentional way he spoke, the consonances distinct.   
“What can I do for you?” He had not looked away from the shelf he was engaged with beside him. Righting her hair, she stepped forward and inquired about his availability.   
“Obviously,” he replied flatly, “or else I would have stated such in your introduction, cutting our encounter short. I ask again, what”–he turned his head from the shelf to her, still in his high backed chair–“can I do for you?” Suddenly feeling very small under his gaze she sputtered a response quickly, eventually taking long strides toward him and handing him the paper. He glanced from her to the paper and then back just once, his thumb and forefinger closing assertively on the corner of the paper, the material sliding from her fingers. He said nothing but read. Rather than stand beside him waiting, she looked around and went to the window.   
Standing where the professor occasionally stood, she saw the appeal. It was one of the two windows in the large dungeon room, the other at the back of the class in a small extension room professor Snape occasionally used for demonstration. Out the window, the lake refused to let the coming ice set. In the distance, little, dark shapes poured out from around the corner. Classes were over for the first and sixth years, and maybe a few others. It seemed they were taking advantage of the fresh, heavy snow, the best kind for building because it packs so well. Once again, the familiar tug at the corners of her mouth sent a glow through her chest. The youngest of the school deserved to have Friday’s off in their schedule for days such as these. It was only right.   
“From where did you get the information on the maturity of the blood?”  
“Jigger,” she replied without looking from the window. Of course, she was referring to Arsenius Jigger’s Magical Drafts and Potions.   
“You didn’t acknowledge the origin of the text.” A harsh scratching of his quill was audible and she bit the inside of her cheek and closed her eyes in irritation. At herself. Such a stupid thing to have overlooked. The brunette pulled away from the scenery. Standing on her toes, in front of his desk, which was raised a level, she peeked at her upside-down paper. It was a good thing she had him look it over judging by the state of it now. “Any Borage?”  
“I didn’t find a need for it.”  
“Good,” he replied without evident praise, “students overcomplicate these assignments. Everything you need is so attainable. Regardless, it seems you’ve done a brilliant job of overcomplicating this assignment in an entirely new way.” He handed back the paper without touching the backside, but she refused to mention it. “Cut out half of that nonsense. I want the information in half the space with room for me to add an entire work of my own within the margins. That is all.” He did not meet her gaze for he had continued onto the next task on his desk, so she thanked him and took the paper, walking out, testing the resistance of her top lip this time. 


	3. Progress, Pride, and Petition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The semester is almost up. The rest of the professors have cut you some slack, save for a certain Slytherin. You seem to be improving in potions, nevertheless, and even...warming up to the cold man, graced by his presence and...gratitude?

The next day, she took the opportunity to visit Charms, Divination, and Transfiguration. All classes she needed a little guidance in for finals the week after next. By the end of the day, she’d found herself back at the door of the potions master with her revised paper. This time she paused in preparation after the students from his last class had cleared from the hall before immediately reaching for the handle. Her fingertips just settled on the cold metal when it swung forward. She responded slightly startled and, once again, the drone of her name encouraged her into the room.

“Good afternoon, Professor Snape. I’ve done the revisions on my essay and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping me once more to see if I…miss anyth—”

“Quickly. I _do_ have pressing work to attend to.” She closed the door behind her and hurried over, her loafers clicking on the cobblestone.

He took about the same amount of time to look over this paper as he had on the edition before, which assured her. Surely he must have taken so long because he was hard-pressed to find errors. And, just as she had suspected, the essay she received looked very much as she had had it a few minutes prior, save for a few marks here and there. The girl battled a smile on her way to her seat to make revisions, not wanting to seem smug.

“Is it alright if I stay for just a moment to make the corrections?” she inquired, already sitting down. Snape had risen from his seat, but stood beside it looking at her. A faint scowl threatened to bloom across his face and his eyes flickered to the paper already on her table.

“I suppose so,” he said absently after a moment. The man shouldered off his black cloak and draped it over his chair, making his way past her to the back, extension room where the great cauldron lived.

And so, they carried on like this almost every day the next week. Tuesday, she chose to stay after in Herbology at the end of the day to find some peace of mind, but every other day, she found herself back in the dungeons. It wasn’t that she struggled the most in the class, more and more she was getting quite a solid grasp, but he was the most demanding instructor. Where many, if not all, of the other teachers had assured her with her coming finals, if not given her the tools she needed to be successful on her own, Professor Snape wasn’t so easy to satisfy. It seemed the more help she asked on a particular assignment, paper or not, the more it encouraged him to be picky with things she’d never heard before, such as the irregularity of the way that she sliced her ginger and how that would affect the homogeny of the solution. It seemed the more she used him to aid her to reach the bar set, the higher he would put it. Should she be so foolish as to make the same mistake he had corrected last week, he would lower the bar and correct sparsely; so that, when the paper was returned, glad that she only had a few things to correct, she would be _pleasantly_ surprised when he returned it next with outrageously meticulous edits.

Thursday came around and, as the daylight perished, she sat in the dank potions surrounded by the incandescence of the candles hung about the room, flipping through Jigger once more, absently. Then, a thought occurred.

“Sir,” she offered at a reasonable volume. He acknowledged her with a curt hum. “Is there any way to ease the after-effects of the draught for the final?” Invigoration draughts seemed to have withdrawal effects, from the first-hand accounts in the text. This potion would be of a similar caliber to the one she would be brewing in the spring for her O.W.L. Especially since this draught was heavy on the herbs, she deduced these complications with withdrawals were due to the short-comings of the brewer. The professor and she weren’t turned or actively engaged with each other.

She sat in her seat near the window, two or so meters from his desk where he sat, looking over her paper the final time, she’d decided, for the evening. Her eyes were still studying the ingredient list and procedure of the draught.

“For what purpose?” he mumbled, still studying her paper.

“I was under the impression that this issue could be avoided. That it was the product of the short-comings of the brewers.”

“And you believe that the collective ‘short-comings’ of several brilliant potion masters throughout history can be overcome by a fifth-year who can’t seem to format her citations correctly?” She bit her lip. He was right. If not the procedure as is, then something outside the procedure…She ran through the elixirs and solutions in her mind. When she found none that were simple enough to be considered, because simplicity was one of the main goals, she flipped through her textbooks. If not whole potions then…ingredients, she supposed. Something fairly subtle, nothing explosive or energizing, that would only heighten the withdrawals. Something natural…medicinal, maybe? Energizing but soothing, invigorating, if you will. Then it occurred to her.

“What about a mint?” She asked, finally looking at him. He stopped reading. His eyes unfocused, seeming to look past the paper, into his own mind to think for a second.

“What did you say?” he asked looking up at her, finally, the piercing form of his eyebrows and irises focused intently on her. Unable to withstand his direct gaze, she looked to the side, shrugging, picking under her thumbnail with her other, but steeling herself for her explanation.

“A-a mint…sir. The winter mint we have this year is quite resilient…but I suppose peppermint might be more pleasant to most drinkers because of the popularity…” she the last part to herself, continuing on though she heard his lips part to speak. “If not what is on the page, then something outside the recipe. No wizard in their right mind would bother brewing two complicated and time-consuming potions, especially for a fleeting boost. No, it would have to be something added. Something to make the fall from the high more of a gentle slide. I’m most familiar with the properties of medicinal plants. Hence…a mint. Peppermint boosts focus but also soothes…I believe,” she added the last part after finally meeting his dark gaze, which hadn’t changed. Immediately, she regretted her words. Her thought process must have sounded so childish. So what if she understood a couple of stupid flowers? Professor Snape was right. He was right that some little girl wasn’t going to find some solution to an issue that’d been around for years. He was right and she couldn’t understand why she pressed the matter.

“You’re right,” he replied sonorously turning back to her paper, speaking without expression. “I did something similar in my school days with an elixir. At the time, I was familiar with its effects as an ingredient. It seems your familiarity with the ingredient provided you with the connection…Well done.” She beamed inside. A smile bloomed across her face. Oblivion seemed to settle on her when, all at once, the thin, cool air of the dungeons, the professor, even the very room seemed to leave her. She felt clever. She felt inspired. For all the joy that came with herbology, now she’d experienced her first, real-world application to all her knowledge. “And with this as well.” She came to and whipped her head around to look at the paper he held out to her. He continued speaking the same way he always did: whilst looking at a few other assignments on his desk. “Turn in this _exact_ paper Monday and you should anticipate receiving full marks. That is all.”

_Finally._

The Hufflepuff took it from him and looked at it in disbelief. Not a mark that was not her own graced the parchment. She thanked him profusely, though he hardly acknowledged her once he had moved onto his next task.

~[…]~

“Aconites are extremely poisonous, and you will remember, so please always wear your gloves,” announced Professor Beery while fifth-year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins here and there pulled their dragon hide gloves on tighter, stretching the full, violet buds of the flower away from the stem to prune them. A moment later, the bell could be heard and the clatter of clippers could be heard resounding through the greenhouse.

The shuffling and chatter of students was disorienting. But, the girl did not shift in the slightest. She stayed focused on her flower until she was done. In the commotion, a student made to go against the stream and ended with her elbow between the shoulder blades of the focused brunette. The clippers snipped and a quarter of the healthy foliage was disconnected. Suddenly her heart plummeted into her stomach.

“Sorry,” a female voice was heard over her shoulder. The Hufflepuff unclenched her jaw and turned her head to smile kindly and reassure her assaulter, but the Slytherin moved quickly and made for her bag, not hardly acknowledging the herbologist’s presence with a mere glance as she walked out after the tail of the crowd.

The door to the greenhouse shut and she found herself frozen, primed to accept an insincere apology. A sharp breath escaped her and the clippers gave a soft rap as they were set on the wooden table. Why couldn’t any of them just care? She forced her eyes to meet the improper severing of the Aconite. It was just a plant. But, it was hers. It was hers to make successful.

“How do you think it went today?” the voice broke her from her thoughts. He met her eyes across the table while waving his wand at a couple of brooms, which stood erect and got to work tidying up the table. “I think it went quite well today, indeed. The whole lot of them are much more vocal! Even that Slytherin boy, Mr. Sheppard. Something with a G or…oh! Jamie! James Sheppard! Do you know him?”

“Can’t say I do, sir.”

“Well, he hasn’t hardly touched a thing this semester and today—you can’t possibly guess—he picks up these very clippers!” Beery takes a pair from their place on the long table behind her. She smiles but can feel it doesn’t reach her eyes. He begins again, but stops short and leans down to catch the expression on her face. “What’s the matter, little miss? You look ever so dreary.” She smiles genuinely at his kindness, then opens her mouth to speak, only to find the words jammed in her throat. Her face gets hot and she can feel her emotions welling in her sinuses, threatening to spill out onto her cheeks and tarnish the cuffs of her uniform as she tries to smear it into a believable smile. “Oh, dear…” he began. He reached out to comfort her but she stood from her bench and told him she just needed to get through the final week. Thanking him for, indeed, another wonderful class, she put her things in their appropriate places before her emotions could take control of her.

Just as she got to the exit, the sound of her name stopped her. She turned and replied.

“Come see me for lunch. We’ll talk. The snippet on the Aconite is not your fault. What’s your next class?”

“Double potions.” He cringed

“My condolences.” She laughed at that. “Don’t fret about finals. Take a breath. Come by after potions with your lunch and we’ll prune the tulips.” The girl smiled gratefully at him and nodded, heading out into the bitter cold.

Professor Beery had helped her like this a couple of times before, but as she stressed more things, he often asked her to come by the greenhouse for a spell and forget the world. It felt pleasant to forget everything she was responsible for and be present with the plants.

The morning was cold all around her. The snow collapsed under her feet, the horrible grainy stuff that was encased with a thick layer of crispy snow. There was absolutely nothing you could do with this snow, except fight for hours in the drive with a bent shovel her father refused to replace because it was “just as good as any shovel”. Joining the footsteps of her classmates carving the path to the entrance to the castle, the sun glinted off the crystals scattered across the surface of the field of snow unbroken.

The girl found herself at the door to the potion’s classroom before the rest. Having already spent a chunk of her break getting to the other side of the castle, she figured it was just as beneficial to go straight to class a bit early than to stop by her dorms and lay down.

“Good morning, professor,” she greeted to the figure in the backroom of the dungeons upon entry. He turned his head and returned the greeting. Her stool made a soft scrap when she picked it up to pull it back from her table. Rather than stuff her mind with more information, she slipped a scrap piece of parchment from her satchel and took out her quill and ink. In the order that the responsibilities she had came to mind, she wrote them down. After a sizable list had been acquired, she racked her brain for anything she could be missing. Her rich, dark eyes lifted from her parchment, following the contour of the stone arch that began just behind her and stretched to the opposite side of the room. Following the movement to the shelf that held various ingredients, the tip of the feather gracing her quill traced the edge of her jaw, making her shiver. She flicked the end of the quill away from her and stared more intently at the shelf across from her, willing something to come. Then she noticed a particularly large jar, filled almost 1/5th of the way with brownish-green contents. She recognized it. She could be mistaken, but she wanted to be sure.

“Sir,” she began, making her way over to inspect the jar. He acknowledged her then inquired about her intentions. “Is this your supply of scurvy grass?”

“Yes,” he responded without interest.

“They’re almost dead.” He walked across the room and stood beside her to inspect the jar.

The professor had never been this closer to her before, and if he had, he’d been sitting at his desk, never standing. This close she could accidentally touch him very easily. His body seemed to give no warmth, but his presence could hardly be ignored. Towering nearly half a foot over her, his slim form wrapped in black dominated 2/3rds of her world for several moments. His shadow cast over her. It only took him long enough to see the container clearly before he confirmed and brushed it off.

“Of course, for the final, I will have Professor Beery supply me with a fresh batch. Were you under the impression I would neglect such a detail?”

“No, sir!” His head turned at these words and she met his eyes. She was lying. She did think he would overlook this, but she wouldn’t tell him that. One skinny eyebrow of his quirked and, for a moment, she knew he could see right through her. It wouldn’t have been so intimidating…if he hadn’t been so close.

At this proximity, the stringy locks of hair stood out against his sallow face. The deep-set circles at the base of his eyes cradled dark, calculating orbs set deep in his profile, cast in shadow by his brow, scrunched forward in a permanent half-scowl. He certainly was young, but something about his face painted him much older. Despite the features before her not standing out as strikingly handsome…he indeed was. The sharp angles of his face gave him a sophisticated look and his pale skin was clear and even, save for the faint areas of stress and fatigue. While the hair on his head seemed to be unkept, he showed no evidence of thinning and his face was smooth and shaven.

“Well, then whatever for?” he asked in his slow, precise way. His voice was quieter because of their proximity and the dynamic encouraged the pitch to drop. She could feel his baritone words vibrating in her chest and the sound was…attractive.

Wait, what? What was she thinking? Nevermind that! She was stunned to silence. Why had she asked? She had asked to be helpful, she decided! She had wanted to be the one to make sure there were fresh ingredients for the final! But…that would imply she didn’t trust him to be prepared for his students. She couldn’t say that, not to his face. She looked away from his eyes and shrugged. With her eyes down she noticed a container of American Hart’s-tongue ferns in a rather sorry state. She chose to half-fib.

“I had only noticed the container of grass could be replenished. I understand you and Professor Beery are quite busy with your preparations for finals and I only thought I could be of assistance to both of you. I am quite familiar with the greenhouses and I’m even planning to go there for lunch, so if-“

“That’s enough,” he silenced her and left her side, striding to his desk. “Professor Beery and I are quite capable of managing our own affairs.” The ending bell for the break period sounded in the castle and she let the matter go. The brunette replied with a formality and returned to her seat, rewetting her quill and scribbling “stay quiet” as an addition to her list.

At the end of class, one of her classmates had set a table crashing to the ground after the strap to her bag had been tangled around the leg. Vials, books, quills, ink, and parchment scattered across the floor, smashed, and spilled. The brunette rushed forward to help pick up things, a few others around her joining in just as quickly. A few snickers could be heard in the back of the room and the misfortunate, red-haired girl blushed a deep red and hung her head. Professor Snape gave no punishment but gave her a look of disapproval, which she didn’t meet. The companions of hers stood and offered words of kindness. The brunette could not bring herself to that degree of assistance. Leaving it to the friends of the girl who was now as red in the face as she was in her hair, the girl righted the table with the help of a male classmate and returned to her seat. The signal to the end of class was heard and the students who weren’t standing already stood to make a hasty exit.

A swift flick in her peripheral caught the brunette’s attention as she packed away her belongings. His wand had already been replaced beside him on his desk when she looked up and the result of his actions produced a mop from the far wall. The stick flew across the room and began mopping up the ink, which most likely wouldn’t do much to the hard, stone floor. As she began to exit with the last of the students, she heard her name called from behind. Releasing a short sigh, she turned to acknowledge him without advancing forward. He didn’t reply but looked up at her through his eyelashes expectedly. Raising his hand, a slip of parchment was caught between his index and middle fingers.

She furrowed her eyebrows slightly and came to stand before his desk. When she was right before him, his posture did not change, nor the expression on his face. The only movement was his long, lanky arm extending toward her with the paper just enough so she could reach. She looked at the slip and reached for it. Her thumb and index brushed against the fingers capturing the note. Snape’s hands weren’t ice, but they were chilled, no doubt from their limited dimensions. The skin at the tips of his fingers was smooth and once she had the paper secured in the place between her fingers, his slipped away quickly.

Examining the contents of the note, she noticed they were a list of plants.

“My containers do not leave the classroom. Professor Beery delivers the produce I require in a large wicker basket.” She knew about the delivery process but said nothing. “I expect it by the end of the day.”

“Sure thing, professor. Can I get it to you after last class, but before dinner?” He gave a curt nod and vocalized confirmation that was acceptable. She tucked the note in the front pocket of her leather satchel and bade him goodbye.

“Yes, thank you,” he responded and she almost halted before reaching the door, but continued her stride all the way through and down the hall to the rest of the castle.

He’d never asked for her help. She felt useful. He’d never dismissed her without ending with “that is all” or something formal of the sort. And she knew without a doubt, he had never, ever thanked her before.


	4. Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School is starting back up, which is...groovy...you guess. You won't make the same mistake as last semester, though. Spring comes and all is lovely and well. Except, professor Snape seems a little irritable...or is there something he's trying to hide from you? And why didn't someone from your own house not come any look for you?

_January 1987_

At last, the freedom the girl had relished in over the past weeks slipped from her grasp and shattered into her academic schedule once more. She had decided not to go back home over the holidays. Rather best not to deal with the family. Instead, she enjoyed the company of those in the Hufflepuff house who had stayed, even graced with the regular accompaniment of a couple of Ravenclaws on her way to Hogsmeade every couple of days or so.

Presently, she lay on her bottom bunk, staring at the bottom of the top bunk at the carved floral designs in the honey-colored wood. Soft, blue rays poured from the half-moon windows on either side of her bed and clashed together in the middle of the dorm, muting the warm glow from the lanterns on the wall. The silence of the room buzzed in her ears and the witch closed her eyes, fiddling with the quilt she lay on. Stilling her breath for a moment, she heard the faint cheers of children playing on the grounds outside her window. Students were returning to the castle and friends were being reunited. Just a couple more days with her fuzzy jumpers and joggers, thought she.

The entrance to the dorms, the top of a mahogany barrel, swung forward and a triumphant “I have returned!” came from the hole. The brunette grinned and rubbed her eyes. Looking down past her chest, she witnessed Clair stumbling through into the room. Things weren’t so bad, she supposed.

~[…]~

As the new blades of green battled the waning snow across the fields cast around the castle and the sun became more and more eager to see the children each morning, classes picked up. Learning from her short-comings last semester, the girl made an effort to stay ahead of her workload. She found that secluding the classrooms to areas of work forced her to be more productive and so she carried on as she had at the end of the year just passed.

Just as she had the semester previous, she found herself spending most of her academic time in the greenhouses. Of course, as of late, her work was required out of doors as the seasons shifted. No longer was she finding her afternoons saturated with the rich, organic air of the clear vegetation structures; instead, she was drenched in rain as she accidentally wiped soil in her eye and fatigued in hours of warm, cradling sunlight. The elements put her through the wringer, and yet she wouldn’t trade it for anything. The Hufflepuff of course still worked in the greenhouses, but the raised beds outside secured her. She felt as if she couldn’t knock over anything fragile and the vast, wooden boxes felt like primed, blank canvases, ready for beauty and success.

While the world warmed and she was reaching new heights in herbology, most of the rest of her academic time was also spent within the dank, cobblestoned dungeons tucked away from the radiant afternoons. Once more, while all the rest of the masters and mistresses had delighted in her initiative, one professor still remained pushing her.

Weeks drew on and the classrooms gradually faded to the quaint nook of a tree near the lake. Their meeting was nothing sort of luck. But, once she found this little hideaway, she was hard-pressed to leave it be. It was nothing special, but it did indeed slope just enough to give her support and comfort while she did most any kind of work. Furthermore, the ripples of the nearby lake, the rush of the wind, and the smell of the air all invigorated her while she worked. With the beginning of April drawing near, she knew she would have to start preparing seriously for the O.W.L.s.

School, school, school! Good grief, she could use a couple more age-appropriate hobbies. Brushing those thoughts away, she walked into the potions room and greeted the man standing by the window, looking out it.

Coming by so often, she rarely had to announce herself or check to see if he was busy, for she knew generally what his schedule was like as the semester progressed. Snape’s response came after a slight delay and carried a note of something other than routine curtness with it. She did not acknowledge what she noticed with a glance his way, but instead looked intently at her cauldron, circling around to stand in front of it, her work station beside her. For the next week or so, they would be perfecting the Befuddlement Draught and she still wasn’t quite producing a potion she was satisfied with. Setting her shoulders and releasing a breath, she produced her textbook and flipped to the draught.

“It’s been a while,” Professor Snape said from the window, his voice no louder than it had to be in the near-silent dungeon.

“Sorry?” she replied placing her finger where she had finished looking in her textbook and glancing up at him. He did not look at her. Deep, black eyes peered out the window, seemingly focused, his slim arms folded across his chest.

“Since you’ve come by.” The clarification seemed quieter than the former statement. Still, he would not meet her eyes, even though she knew he could see her in his peripheral. His tone was uninterested as if he were merely stating a fact.

“Oh, yes,” she began, finally looking from him and straightening a knife beside her book. “I-I suppose it has been…you see, there’s this tree that’s by the great lake and it’s been a rather lovely place to go at the end of the day. What with the sunshine and all and the air is quite nice…I suppose. It’s not just your class, though, I haven’t been going to man- ”

“I only mentioned it for I noticed the peace and quiet,” he snapped, turning from the window and returning to his desk, all without gracing her gaze with his own. His dark cloak billowed behind him and, as he sat down, the fabric meshed into the shadow cast over his office area and he looked to be nothing more than a pale face and a couple of hands.

She stood with her mouth still parted from speaking, her eyebrow quirked. Rather than inquire further on the exchange, her dark eyes returned themselves to her work. Although she was confused by the reaction, the girl’s parched lips pursed themselves, discouraging a growing smile. He had missed her, in his own way. He wouldn’t have said anything otherwise. It was nice to feel missed, even a little. She had not thought much on it either, but the Hufflepuff had noticed his marginal absence as well. After a little over a season of consistent exchanges, to change that felt…unordinary.

With those thoughts nearly half in her mind, she spotted a mistake she had made with the draught. However, correcting it would mean going to the entire brewing process again. That was something to be dealt with another day, certainly.

Feeling pleased with herself, she packed her things away and thanked the professor, heading out without a fleeting glance his way.

~[…]~

Friday passed wonderfully. She attended breakfast with Clair and then the two of them spent the rest of the day under the tree by the lake, snacking on treats and such from Hogsmeade. Once or twice the blonde left to grab something warm and savory for the both of them from the mess hall. But, otherwise, they enjoyed each other’s company and did book work, or chatted. Saturday was spent much the same way, only Clair left before lunch to go to a Quidditch scrimmage.

So, the girl sat and ate her sweets and looked out over the glittering water. The wind was mild, a breeze, you might say. Regardless, it was wonderful and was just strong enough to press the sharp smell of the lake away, but not so much that she couldn’t tell it was there with a deep inhale. The exposure her little nook had allowed the breeze and heat of the sun to dry the grass, but the shade from the foliage above her moderated her temperature deliciously. When she closed her eyes, she could almost feel as if she were in the space between earth and heaven. Perfectly balanced, save for the branch shoved awkwardly under her arm. She smiled with her eyes closed and laughed softly through her nose. Her thick cloak was pillowed between the rough trunk and her head and, with her body at a reasonable decline, the girl felt a tugging at her eyelids and an incline to sleep. The afternoon held hardly anything for her, so she obliged.

Somewhere in the depths of her consciousness, in the place between such a state and unconsciousness, she heard footsteps whisking softly towards her. Must be Clair, done with her games. But she was too bothered to fully wake, knowing the other girl would slump down beside her in a sweaty heap and shake her awake anyway.

“So, here is where you’ve been.” The voice was far too deep and much less familiar to be hers.

Her eyes flew open and she sat up to look at her professor.

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” she yawned and stretched her stiff body, wiping her eyes roughly.

“Good _afternoon_ ,” he replied and corrected, adding her prefix and last name. He stood a reasonable distance away, yet, still, his shadow consumed her. The girl vaguely tried to recall the last time he had approached her outside of the classroom, let alone the last time she’d seen him outside.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, after a moment of the professor neglecting to express his intention in coming to find her here.

The ever-persistent spring sun, now dying, beat against his back, softening his edges and casting a warm, ethereal halo about him. Still, he was clad in black, even in the nearly 60-degree weather. Still, he held a permanent, half-scowl. Still, his features were sharp, shallow, and painfully pale. In his hand, his black wand was almost distinguishable against his clothes, poised at his waist. The breeze that still remained, however faint, disturbed the fine, unkept locks on the outskirts of his long hair. At an appropriate distance, he appeared no different, and might almost have been seen that way from where she half-sat, half-lay. But, his wand was clutched just tight enough for the thin, pale skin of his hand to reach its limit over his sharp knuckles. His scowl was less forward, even. Deep, black eyes weren’t as narrowed. Long, thin eyebrows dipped just as far down to mingle with surprisingly long eyelashes, but the ends, where they would compete to kiss the bridge of his nose, were turned upward, ever-so-slightly. The result was something unlike his usual expression and general demeanor. If she was not mistaken he almos-

“Obviously,” he responded, although without much expression. Her eyes jumped from his lips, previously forced into a thin line, paling with the compression, to his eyes, still fixed on her. “You neglected to inform your prefects or your head of house of your whereabouts. You’ve been absent from the mess hall for several meals, missing announcements from Headmaster Dumbledore. Even professor Beery took note of your absence. No one seemed to know where you were.”

“Clair was with me all day yesterday and this morning.” He had leaned forward slightly in his lecture and leaned back at this. Professor Snape looked to the side in thought, then looked back at her without turning his head. “She and I took our meals out here and, since there were no classes yesterday, nor today, for that matter, we took the days to rest.” After this, he stood in silence. In thought, she realized. The girl had never seen him publicly take so long to think, even if it was just a moment more than usual. Then, all at once, she witnessed something spectacular. 

In the final moments his eyes still held the alien emotion he approached her with, he stepped backward slightly and his face changed. The top of his jaw jutted out momentarily, evident of it being clenched. The faintest swallow could be heard in the pressing silence between them and, though the collar of his robes reached up and protected most of his neck, the small patch of flesh at the top of his neck could be seen dipping in and relaxing with the swallow, his Adam's apple making a valiant effort to be seen over the edge of his collar. Obsidian spheres flickered to the same side they required for optimal mental cognition and, though it may have been a trick of the setting sun, color bloomed across his face. Two of the most youthful buds of rouge graced the sallow canvas beneath his eyes. Following suit, a third blossom sprang to life across the bridge of his nose, and, for the first time, she witnessed life grace his complexion. The colors were so faint, she would have to convince herself they really had been there long after the ephemeral moment had pasted. But, just as quick as it had come, but the expression was wiped with polish and his head was brought at a reasonable pace back to face her.

“Very well, it seems I’ve been mistaken. Good day, miss” and with the last sounds of her name on his lips, he turned and began walking away.

“Professor!” she called louder than necessary, seeing as he was only a few paces away. He turned to her and she began packing her bag furiously. Now was as good a time as any to head back, and she felt rude for not acknowledging his consideration…and embarrassing him.

As they walked, their conversation merged from the announcements she missed to potions class to other classes then, even, to a bit of Herbology.

“…Beery and I talked about spending a little more time in the gardens. But, with O.W.L.s coming up…I don’t know, I suppose the work I’m doing in there feels more and more like work and less like a release, you know? If that makes any sense…I suppose that’s why I’ve started going to the tree. It sounds like utter folly, but my mind can take a rest there, so I go…” He didn’t respond immediately. Just as she was starting to feel as if she overshared, his lips parted.

“Are you cross with me?” Her eyes widened and she turned to look at him, stuttering out a declination. He didn’t respond immediately, rather his eyes moved from the ground to straight ahead of them. What could she possibly be cross at him for? Why would it matter…?

“When you came to work earlier this week, I cut you off whilst you were speaking of this new place you study and…was unnecessarily rude. I apologize for that…”. The brunette was taken aback once more and stumbled over her words, trying to compensate for her hesitation with the sincerest acceptance of his apology as she could muster. While she looked to him several times as they spoke, he avoided visually acknowledging her completely, but it didn’t bother her much. After the exchange of apology and acceptance, there was silence. The absence of sound stretched until they reached the side entrance of the school. In one, swift motion, he stepped forward and captured the handle, opening the entrance. When he made no move to enter, she thanked him with a nod and pasted into the hall way.

To the left was the way to the Quidditch pitch, so she looked to professor Snape and smiled, adding a “goodbye”. He bade her good evening and continued straight down the hall, his cloak billowing, shoes tapping softly in rapid secession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Saturday~


	5. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final exams shouldn't be affecting you this much. You're capable enough to handle yourself. But...no one's ever held you like that before. Best not to think about it too much!

_May 1987_

O.W.L.s were in a month. O.W.L.s were in one month. One more month until she was tested. Why hadn’t she prepared better? Defense against the dark arts would go absolutely poorly if she didn’t take her hands out of the damn soil and start waving her wand about soon. Oh, why hadn’t she done more sooner?

“Are you even listening?” Clair pulled her out of her reverie and was slouched over trying to catch her eye from across the table. The brunette had, in fact, not been listening, her mind choosing to mull over things she couldn’t change while she studied a piece of potato that had fallen to the ground beneath the Slytherin table.

“Sorry,” she replied shaking her head and rubbing her eyes. The blonde pressed her lips together and furrowed her neatly shaped brows together. Harsh words the young girl deserved threatened to pour forth. Nevertheless, she released the air from her lungs and closed her brilliant, green eyes for a moment.

“It’s alright…I understand you stress over school stuff, but it’s good to take a break sometimes, you know?” The girl nodded. “…Say, what do you think about going out with Suzan and Emily this weekend? The four of us can visit town and take our minds off things.” She nodded her head again and the blonde smiled understandingly, offering to head out of the mess hall.

Classes for the week pasted in a blur. Though she was glad transfiguration was always followed by herbology or care for magical creatures, two of the more straightforward classes, her performance in double potions and defense against the dark arts on Monday was less than satisfactory. At least she could do something about the former.

~[…]~

As the last of the students left the grounds Hagrid lived on, caring for magical creatures on Wednesday, the Hufflepuff found her feet carrying her once more to the dungeons. A part of her had begun to feel this trip was becoming redundant, but she couldn’t risk not passing potions. There was an hour or so before dinner and she much rather rebrew the Erumpent Potion then than do it the following morning before class.

Her olive-toned hand rapped softly on the hard, wooden door and she let herself in. As it got closer to final exams, she felt more inclined to be respectful when entering classrooms, for teachers were just as busy, if not busier, than most students. While she often waited for a response in most other classrooms, a briefly announced entry into the potions room had been sufficient since the dawn of the semester.

“Hello?” There came no answer when she stepped inside and a glance around the dark room produced not a soul. A breath of air left her and a small smile graced her lips. At least when she was alone she might be less anxious to make a mistake. Without remembering to shut the door behind her, she hurried over and pulled the blinds back from the window, savoring in the space she now had to herself.

She set up her station and strutted along the wall of ingredients, finding the ones she needed. Averagely slim fingers plucked jars from the shelves and averagely full lips pressed together while she hummed quietly. When the girl found the erumpent liquid, she looked between the portioned vials and the few erumpent tails and horns in the stone basin she used to carry everything. The portions were for full brews, but that would take too long and she didn’t want to waste this many ingredients…especially if she did it wrong. Taking what she could to her station she reevaluated with her book in hand. If the portion of the liquid was smaller, she could cut the amount of horn and tail in half. Yes! It would work. She scribbled some calculations on an unused bit of parchment and portioned out the components. Biting back a wild grin, the becoming potions mistress put the extra horns and tails back in their appropriate places and skipped back. Yes, yes, yes, this would work! Digging in the side pocket of her satchel, she produced her wand and poised her hands. Settling her nerves with a breath she gave a brisk swish.

“ _Reducto_.” Her heart stopped. Before she could correct herself, before she could undo her mistake, before she could protect herself with anything, the vial holding the liquid shattered. She held her hands up to protect herself from the shards of glass, but also from the inevitable explosion that would follow immediately after. With the erumpent tails and horns sitting right beside the vial, which was no more, the liquid would spill over them and create a reaction. There was nothing she could do but throw her arms up.

Suddenly, she was hit. Her body was slammed against something hard and a loud rumble vibrated into her body where she was in contact with the surface. But, it wasn’t a rumble like an earthquake or what an explosion should sound like. It sounded human.

“ _Evanesco,”_ came the voice again from above and her eyes flew open.

Professor Snape held her tightly around the waist, pressing her with surprising strength to his chest. Her face was buried in his dark cloak, her hands covering her face. She could feel his chest heave and fall rapidly, his breath whisking past her head in time with his chest. In grabbing her, he had spun her slightly, blocking her view from her table. Blocking her whole body from the table. There came no explosion. There came nothing. They stood without a word, chests expanding and deflating out of sync.

When she finally looked up at him, he was not looking at her. His slim body shielded her almost at a parallel, but his neck strained to allow him to look where he was pointing his wand. Although his hair was long enough to cover his jaw, at this angle the tendon stretching from behind his ear was visible, protesting against the skin securing it within. His eyes were wide looking somewhere off between her and where the vial had been shattered. Tighter still he clasped her to him. The girl stared at him waiting for him to say something, wondering if she should, instead. But, when she opened her mouth to speak, his wand was dropped to the floor. His free hand now came up to grasp her upper arm.

“What were you thinking?” gasped he, his eyes met hers wild with a worry she’d never seen. The rest of his face fought to express anger, to show he was utterly cross with the girl, but in vain. The scowl eventually forged ahead and his eyes seemed finally able to narrow sufficiently, but the middle of his eyebrows could not be encouraged to turn down and complete the expression. Looking away from the civil war on his features, she brought her arms up to cross across her chest. The man’s other arm slipped from her back so she could remove herself from him, but the hand still remained on her. Holding her at arms-length he asked, without waiting for her first answer, “are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” replied she, a tad more aggressive than she had intended. Stepping back, she brushed his hands away. She was fine, physically, but she felt like a child now. 

“What were you doing?”

“I was just trying to brew a smaller batch and…and mis-misspoke.”

“‘ _Misspoke_ ’? What do you _mean_? What were you trying to do? Do you have any ide-”

“I meant ‘ _Reducio’_!” she snapped, finally meeting his eyes, her emotions bubbling in her sinuses once more, fat tears threatening to spill. In his interrogating, he had leaned toward her, giving her that look he gave the second-years. The look was wiped in an instant and the professor seemed thoroughly taken aback. He retreated, standing straight, his thin lips parted but she gave him no time to respond. “The portions of the damn erumpent liquid are so bloody huge I wanted to just go through the brew once more, but it seems I can’t even do that right! I can’t even get my blooming spells right, lest I want to end up on all four walls! This is _just_ the thing I _always_ muss up and I’ll never amount to anything because I’m just a foolish girl just as you say! You’re right! Everybody’s bloody right!” Her chest heaved with the effort. Her face was hot, now, and the professor blurred rapidly. Swiping her wrists across her eyes and cursing herself, she turned away from him. Snape said nothing, only stood there. Huffing one final time, she disengaged herself from the slightly crouched position she’d adopted and strode over to her satchel to pack her things.

Before she had finished, her last name floated through the air. The brunette refused to acknowledge him. Her name shot through the air, but with less fire than she knew he was capable of. Reluctantly, she turned. The man was closer, but a reasonable distance away, leaned against a table, his wand retrieved. The girl looked at him but did not receive the same courtesy. Snape seemed to be choosing his words.

“Have I ever said you would not amount to anything?” he asked, genuinely. What did he mean? What was he getting at?

“I…I mean, I guess-I don’t know…no, no you haven’t, I suppose…” she trailed off, her fire slowly leaving her but still smoldering within.

“Has anyone?” His dark eyes turned to meets hers.

“…not…in so many words…” He nodded and looked away from her once again. Standing there still fuming while the man sat calmly replying should have irritated her, but she knew she would be getting a lecture on being strong and “over-analyzing at this age” and what not, so she steeled her nerves and prepared to grin and bear it.

“I,” he began slowly after a moment, “I…am not always the kindest. I will not say I even try. I…have been unfair to you. You are very clever and it is improper for you to think otherwise. You get in the way of yourself, you… _foolish_ girl. You could use some arrogance like the rest of them.”

When his words fully processed in her mind, her breath had caught in her throat. Looking away, she made a great effort to stay irritated, huffing and scowling. But, only half-heartedly. She didn’t know what to say. His compliment was rough around the edges, but she understood his intentions. He did not look at her, but the slightly puckered scowl she adopted for him softened. It was not his fault. It was not anyone’s fault, not right now.

The fire left her chest and her face and she moved to sit beside him on the table.

“Well, that was very kind of you to say. Thank you for reassuring me. I often feel I’ve learned very much from you and I wouldn’t be as clever as you say I am without giving credit where credit is due.” The girl looked at him with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes just yet. The smallest of contortions threatened to appeal to the end of his mouth. He fought it. To give his mouth something else to do, he spoke.

“Are you physically injured?” She laughed half-heartedly out of her nose and assured him otherwise. “Are you… _feeling_ alright?” The way he asked brought a slightly more assertive laugh and she responded the same. “Then…that is all. I have work to attend to. You may leave now.” The anomaly at his mouth vanished without a trace and he stood from the table, striding to her work bench to gather the leftover ingredients. Rich-colored eyes followed him for a moment more. Then, her feet touched the floor and she left him to his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapters Every Saturday~


	6. Partings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O.W.L.s. Those damn O.W.L.s. But, at least they're over...and you sure weren't expecting what he told you. Or what you did! But, why are you thinking like that? Nothing's the matter...Expect those thoughts!

_June 1987_

Stars, the stars! It had to be the stars! Or…the tea leaves…maybe those. Don’t fidget. Focus. Why was she taking the divination O.W.L., again? At least Beery was here. She smiled to herself, but forced herself to focus on the parchment before her.

Lovebird to love note. Lovebird to love note. It was simple, she thought to herself. Pulling up her sleeves, the brunette regripped her wand. It was simple. Straightforward. No time like the moment.

Final exams went by painstakingly long, but once they were up, she was utterly relieved. After finally finishing up the Erumpent potion, without being the one who almost took out half the room, she hurried to the Hufflepuff commons and collapsed on the loveseat beside the dormant fireplace. Sucking in a great breath, she released it violently into the air and sank further into the cushions, months of stress off her shoulders. Thinking back on the past couple of months and how buzzed she’d been just a week ago, the witch took a step back and thought on the broader picture. She had been completely consumed with thoughts of failure with something that hadn’t happened yet and, now, she felt very foolish indeed.

While in thought, her legs were lifted roughly by the ankles and her captor plopped down assertively at the end of the couch, replacing her feet on their lap.

“Hey,” she grinned at Clair, the blonde making a goofy face at her, “how was it?”

“Bloody terrible! I’ll tell you that!” The girls laughed and discussed how their finals went, or at least their speculations.

With the rest of the afternoon off, they walked around the castle they wouldn’t be seeing for the next couple of months and found little things to do here and there. Meeting up with the Ravenclaws from winter break, the four walked to the great lake and threw rocks, then were told off for disturbing the merpeople. Great clouds rolled in over the grounds and they made their way to the Quidditch pitch, gathering a few others along the way, enough to play a couple of games of football. Fat dollops of precipitation smacked against her uniform and everyone slipped at least once, the students howling with laughter. By the time no one could recall what the score was, or what it had been at one point, the witches and wizards ran through the pouring ran back to the side entrance into the castle for dinner. They stumbled, dripping wet, through the halls and to their respective tables in the dining hall, waving goodbye to each other.

Dinner passed and the young witch found herself looking out across the table of her housemates with nostalgia. Everyone would be returning home and she wouldn’t see them for a long while. Her eyes moved along the table and settled on the eccentric blonde at the other side telling some 4th year beside her all about their adventures on the quidditch pitch. Recounting a particularly valiant blow she took, unnecessarily, for a Gryffindor boy brought a grin on the brunette’s face and she laughed with the others around her.

~[…]~

The final day came and she relished in the atmosphere she would miss so dearly. Everywhere students packed up their luggage and hung out around the grounds or in commons areas, many excited for the summer holiday. The girl spent the morning with Clair and a couple of others, playing cards or lounging out near the lake.

After lunch, she found herself back in the gardens, chatting with Beery, harvesting here and closing up there. She knew he often came back to the castle to take care of things, yet still tidied up everything fairly nicely. The release she needed to garden in peace returned and, as the sun wanned, she wished it would never end. The train would be leaving in the morning. She might be able to sleep in the greenhouse if she requested strongly enough. Lastly, there was a small garden in the back of the garden house

Throughout the semester, professor Beery had been so kind as to clear a small section of the house for her personal uses. While she primarily cultivated non-sentient crops, more demanding and dangerous conquests had been achieved in her little green house, and more were to come. The small area her plants occupied was no larger than her bed, but was open and bright. Professor Beery would be kind enough to keep her plants alive while she was away, though she would miss having something to take care of. Nevertheless, as the day slipped away from her, she packed her things, hung her apron and gloves, and exited; not before snagging the elegant vial off her desk.

The hall to the dungeons seemed colder than usual. With few torches ignited, her eyes strained and her hand trailed along the side of the moist, rough cobble-stone wall. At once, she rummaged through her satchel and produced her wand. Illuminating her path the rest of the way, her free hand raked through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. The clacking of her stiff loafers resounded in the hall and the noise seemed magnified in the silence of the castle’s dungeons. Reaching the tall, dark, wooden door, her fingers wrapped around the cold, metal ring and pushed the door forward. The latch caught and her shoulder bumped against the door. Leaning back, she tried once more, but only to find it was, in fact, locked. Taking the inside of her lip between her teeth, she hesitated a moment, before releasing the latch and turning to leave.

In her retreat, the door made a loud clack and the entrance was opened. A very irritated professor stuck his head out to glare at his assailant. When their eyes met, his soften. Her title and last name graced his thin lips, which barely parted.

“Good evening, sir. I don’t mean to bother yo-”

Without waiting for her to finish, he turned from the entrance, billowing back into his classroom. Stepping through the open door, she marveled at the sight of the dungeon.

Lanterns floated delicately in the air, casting a warm glow around the room. Some pleasant smell filled the air just subtly enough to mask the usual dense aroma of the cobblestones and grim, but not enough for her to identify it. It wasn’t sweet, but light, and fresh, like flowers. Pressing the door shut, the girl fixed her eyes on a simple lantern nearby. These weren’t the same as the ones in the hall.

“Have you enjoyed the final moments of the semester?” came the baritone drone from his desk. In her marveling, she’d done a turn. Turning back to him, she made her way over and replied.

“Yes, very much. Professor Beery and I were able to pack away much of the green house nicely and I enjoyed socializing with a few friends around the castle. And you?” Snape had hummed in response, but finished up a marking on a paper and replied properly after, his eyes fixing on the parchment before him.

“Yes, I suppose.” Well, he replied verbally. “Were you satisfied with how you performed in your O.W.L.s?” She laughed weakly, his eyes coming up to look at her.

“I…felt fairly confident in much of what I did. But, I suppose I won’t know until I receive my final grades in the post…” Although, she felt very good about much of what she’d done, expressing that much felt arrogant so she said no more. Instead, as she had spoken, she had made her way onto the level his desk sat, a foot or so elevated from the cobblestone floor, and inspected the various ingredients on the wall. Nearly every time she visited his classroom, there was always something new she discovered in the hundreds of vials and bottles and other glass containers along the way.

“Well, you needn’t worry about Potions. You performed outstandingly, to say the least,” said he in his quiet, absent way. Her breath caught in her throat.

“What was that?” she gasped and turned to him. Snape looked up from his parchment and raised an eyebrow. His deep, onyx eyes dropped to the pile of papers beside him and he rummaged to the last paper on the bottom. He produced a thick poster square no bigger than his hand. Rising from his chair, he met her half way, extending his thin arm. She sprang forward with more vigor than she had control over and grasped the document. All her eyes processed was the fairly notable red “O” at the top beside her name before she leaped forward and captured him in her arms.

Overcome by gratitude, she felt her vision blur, for hopefully the last time that year. Her arms wound around his torso and, while he was still shockingly thin, his body tensed, making him feel dense. Unlike the day with the accident, the girl was now momentarily pressed to him completely, his buckle stabbing awkwardly into her stomach. His body was warm. The man was human, after all. His arms hovered, startled from the impact. Noticing the compromising position she’d put them in, she pulled away and masked the inappropriateness of her actions by thanking him profusely.

“I,” she began, fighting little tears, “I promise to continue working hard-if not harder! I…I know I can keep it up. I will!” She smiled at him, even through his shocked look. Deep, dark eyes were wide and his lips were slightly parted. The buds of rogue had been buds long ago, but bloomed more confidently beneath his eyes. Before she could truly admire the height at which his eyebrows could extend to, they plummeted back over her eyes and his lips sealed themselves.

“Very well,” he replied quietly, pushing the words out as quickly as he could, then extending his arm and taking the slightly bent piece of paper with his thumb and middle finger. “Was there anything else you would like to address?” Now, reseated, his demeanor returned, although he was still rather rigid.

“Anything…any-oh, yes!” the witch recalled, swiping her sleeve over her eyes and digging through her bag to produce the elegant Potions bottle to him. His eyes flickered to her when she said nothing more, then back again when he noticed the girl held something out to him. He set down his dry quill and swiveled in his chair, looking perplexed at the beautiful glass figure in her palm. The man made no effort to reach for it but kept his fists in his lap. “For the…the vial I broke…” Recognizing he would not take it from her, she placed it on his desk.

The elegant thing was unlike anything she’d seen in his classroom. It was bulbous and fairly large, but was carved with floral ornaments and topped with a deep, green stopper.

“Valerian roots,” was all he said, his eyes still fixed on the container.

“Yes,” she assured quickly, “I…well, Beery set me up with a garden of my own…I figured you could put them to good use-if they’re any good! Just let me know. You know I’m always akin to…constructive criticism,” she laughed awkwardly.

“My specialty.” Her short, soft laugh echoed in the quiet room and, through her grinning eyes, she witnessed the hint of a smile crease his eyes. Snape’s dark orbs jumped up to meet hers. Unable to hold his striking gaze for very long, she broke the contact.

“Well, thank you very much for all you’ve done for me this semester.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And…I look forward to another year and I hope you have a nice summer.” The girl returned her gaze to him, his eyes now fixed upon the bottle in his hand. His eyes rose to her.

“And you.”

As she exited, she forced thoughts of him from her head. In the candlelight – goodness it was all so cliché – his features seemed so much softer. His tone was gentler, not completely softened but enough. Professor Snape was long and thin, but he wasn’t frail. She knew that well enough from the accident. The ghost of his long, slim fingers gripped her shoulder in the same place he had when he pulled her flush to him. When he was in her arms, her elbows could almost meet around his waist. Had he tried to reciprocate? She couldn’t recall feeling his arms even brush her. Twice, now, her face had been pressed to his chest. He smelled dense, like pepper, but not filthy. Snape smelled like a man.

What was she _thinking_?

The witch was thinking about how she’d never seen so much of his eyes in one encounter. She couldn’t recall a distinct scowl gracing his features throughout the event, after he recognized her at the door. His eyebrows had still been set low, but the lids beneath had forgotten to narrow during their meeting. In the moments he had looked at her…he saw her. He truly _looked_ at her. When she spoke. When she didn’t. The black, ¾ spheres did not fix upon her out of habit or courtesy, but out of intention. They studied her when she hesitated, encouraged her when she became excited. His deep, serious eyes…crinkled. They’d smiled at her just thrice. The last time strongly enough, as the words “and you” left his slender lips, to tug the side of his mouth up and hold it, long enough for her to see.


	7. Playfulness and Preoccupation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall semester has returned and all is right with the world...except the professor, who's acting differently. If it was hard to focus before, now the distractions are even worse.

_August 1987_

The cushions of the cart were stiff, but familiar. The stone arch of a tunnel, just high enough to allow the express clearance, swiped overhead. Across the booth, Clair spoke excitedly about her summer adventures with her magical family. It must have been lovely to be a pure-blood, to have magic constantly in one’s homelife.

“Italy must have been wonderful,” the brunette grinned, looking away from the fleeting scenery out the window at the blonde. The latter returned the gesture and agreed, going into detail.

Was it possible for the castle to look any lovelier than it had always been? The young witch could not tell for sure, but she knew for certain she had been away from Hogwarts too long. It was a perfect, beautiful day to return. A thin, dusting of clouds allowed the sun to ignite the grounds in a joyous light, but not so much that the full, harsh, white light could tarnish the ambience of this tucked away world. Walking with the rest of her schoolmates to the entrance, the smell of fresh rain was intoxicating, nearly inescapable. Finally, she knew she was home.

Children pooled into the mess hall, the chorus of hundreds of voices ringing as houses, dorms, and friends all reunited. A great light filled the space which was adorned in the highest, and darkest, corners of the ceiling with little floating lights. Clair and she settled into the Hufflepuff table and finished the conversation they had been carrying since their reunion at the station. Promptly another housemate recognized Clair with excitement and they engaged in a recount of each other’s holiday experiences. The brunette rested her elbows on the table and looked about, trying to find faces she recognized.

After quickly spotting the Ravenclaws from the previous year, and acknowledging them with a polite wave and mouthed greeting, her eyes discreetly made their way up to the staff counter. Gradually making her way down the line of professors, her eyes spotted arguably the most recognizable figure there.

The sharp, dark eyes of the professor seemed to meet hers from across the room just as hers landed on him. Before she had time to be embarrassed, let alone greet him, an arm shot out in front of his face and waved. Beside him, professor Beery made a semi-garish display, grinning and waving, aggressively mouthing a string of greetings. Her outburst of laughter might have startled the students next to her, if the commotion of the dining hall wasn’t already so jarring. Instead, her response to the outgoing herbologist went nearly unnoticed to her table and she returned the greeting, waving furiously back and grinning.

Snatching up his wand from the table, he gave a quick flick and said an incantation she never would have been able to discern. From his wand came a flying object she could not identify until it hovered over her and fell onto the table before her. Little specs of blue magic shimmered and dissolved away from the paper flower. Olive hands shot forward and unraveled the beautiful thing, reading the note: “Greenhouse?”. The girl nodded vigorous at him, mostly so he could discern it through the distance and clamor of the room, and he grinned and gave two thumbs up, his eyes returning to grace over the sea of heads and catch the eyes of other students he was familiar with. Beside him, professor Snape kept his head tilted down, but his eyes on Beery.

His expression was unreadable from the distance. What was readable was the rapid transition the fixation of his eyes made from the professor beside him, waving at another student, to her. The moment their eyes met, his hand came down from where his forefinger had been pressed to his temple and his posture straighten just slightly, notable even though she could see very little else. Giving him a small smile in the moments they held each other’s gaze she waved. Snape’s eyes flickered to the side, to his house, before flexing the slight fist he’d had. A wave by all accounts. Down came the hand which had greeted her, hovering below his chin, and the man flicked his hair, returning his gaze elsewhere.

~[…]~

The beginning of the fall semester was certainly less intense than the beginning of the previous. Or possibly it was the absence of a pressing examination at the end of the year. Regardless of workload, the witch continued to spend time with Beery.

As seasons shifted, she would see the end to her work outside and, while she enjoyed tending to the harvest she had helped create, the excitement of winter was enough to inspire good feelings. She and the professor spent long, sunny afternoons together chatting about school and flowers, and herbs…and vegetables…and fruits. But, professor Beery was a passionate man! The young Hufflepuff loved spending time with him. Although her interests were slightly more diverse, she would not choose to have it any different. Of course, after ruminating over these feelings for a little while, she did take note that she had herbology every day she had classes this year, which was a lot of being in the gardens and houses already. Thursdays, however, she did have the day off from all classes. Though her time with Beery had increased, so did her time with the Potions master.

As the days got marginally shorter, wetter, and colder, she accompanied professor Snape more often in the evenings. The mid-term approached and she found she had less do to in other classes, yet she very much enjoyed simply spending time in the dungeons. When she had very little to no work to accomplish in Potions, she would assist him with lessons he was preparing or clean. Eventually, he trusted her with grading the papers from the younger students. She was not as severe as he and, often, he needed only the name of a student a glance at the work she had done on their paper to send it immediately back. Still, professor Snape did not ask much of her.

His classroom was pleasant. He spoke very little and, when he did, his words were intentional. The man spoke with purpose and his insight into Potions, alchemy (a new class for her this year), and general magic was quite profound. On so few occasions, he would even express his thoughts on academics and morality. Of course, he went to great lengths to avoid discussing subjects too personal. If he did not have to, he would not let her see into his mind. His brilliant mind.

The girl had to stop thinking like that. Having read the same improper sentence three or four times on the paper currently under her care, encouraging distracting thoughts would only make her work slower. The error she noticed was not a matter of structure, the correction required a certain amount of mental cognition she was unable to give. Afterall, the sentence wasn’t improper for grammatical reasons, but for those of fact. She puzzled over the statement before her a moment more then submitted to the hole in her knowledge. Striding across the warmly-lit room to stand beside him at his desk. They spoke not a word. The Hufflepuff stood quietly beside him with the paper to her chest, glancing about the room, and the Slytherin flipped to another page in the tattered binder on his desk, making a final mark on the page he was on before setting it a top the binder and leaning back. The parchment fell gently upon the spot before him and she began explaining her conflict as he leaned back forward. Whilst indicating supporting evidence given earlier in the passage and a bit of her own personal knowledge, she final made to answer the question the student posed: “could rat tail be replaced with mouse tail/squirrel’s tail?”.

“Certainly, not,” retorted he in his curt, dismissive way.

“And why not?” she pressed, slightly offended through her brilliant deduction of the contrary. “Maybe not the mouse’s or even the shrew’s, but a squirrel’s can be quite large and are they not of the same family?” this she asked while pointing to the evidence she student had incorporated in their paper. When he had dismissed her, he had leaned back. As she looked to him for his answer, he said nothing, but a smug look she found upon his features. The professor fought it, pursing his lips against the smirk and dropping his eyebrows to shadow the twinkling in his eyes.

He returned briskly to the paper, his chest threatening to brush her wrist. The lean arm closest to her wound between the two of hers, propped by their wrists on his desk. His hand settled at the edge of the paper and captured the parchment, freeing it from her and the table with a sharp tug. With his elbow rested on the table, he held the document at eyelevel and pretended to study it for a moment.

She could hear the blood in her ears. No contact was made between them, due to the limited dimensions of his appendages, yet they were thoroughly entangled. And she seemed to be the only one affected by it. Before she could regain control over her arm and remove it from the crook of his arm, he turned to her.

“Do you cook?” His black eyes looked to her and the likelihood of mobility seemed lost. At this distance, she could see the skinny lines carved beneath his eyes and the small freckle beside the bridge of his nose, between his eyebrow and eye. His closeness was unnerving, but the witch could not find the strength to lean back. On the contrary, she felt a small inclination in her throat. A little pull, tugging her forward. What would happen if…?

His open expression was severed with the sharp quirking of one eyebrow.

“C-cooking?”

“Yes, do you ever happen to prepare food that doesn’t come in a box?” The man was making an effort to insult her but their positions did not change and the tone of his voice was less condescending than she knew it could be.

“Yes.”

“Do you ever cook bell peppers?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then,” he held back a smug tone, pursing his lips against the smirk and flicking his wrist to offer her the paper, “you should know that preparing red peppers and yellow peppers yields two _very_ different…tastes.” In finishing his statement, he had leaned even closer. The absence of sound lasted no longer than he saw was fit. But in the time they had stood and sat frozen, her mouth perspired.

The same feeling she could recall feeling a week prior, when he had seated himself at the other side of the table she was working at to chat, returned. The hand nearly captured by his chest and arm quivered, fighting the growing desire to rake itself through his hair, to grab his arm and force it back around her waist just the way it had been when he had saved her life. The blooming desire clawed at the inside of her chest and made her upper arm tingle with anticipation. However, she seemed to be the only one struggling. He turned from her, shaking the parchment impatiently.

Snapping out of her thoughts, the girl forced her stiff joints to move and grab the document, her legs taking themselves to her desk, where she would continue to be absent from her work.

Snape was more composed, she took note. In their final encounters before the summer had separated them, he had lost his hold on his composer more often than usual. In retrospect, he would make an effort to physically distance them, be it by pointing to something on her paper with a quill or wand or by immediately leaving her side should he be required to step directly beside her. That or he was eliminating the distance between them now.

She would stand by the window at the beginning of the evening and comment on occasion of the state of the lake or the sky or the intentions to come of the sun and, rather than respond with a disinterested hum or possibly acknowledge her findings with a glance from his desk, shrouded in darkness, he would finish the task he was on and stride over to her side to investigate for himself. His tone, his expression, even the very words he replied with seemed to be just as they always had been. It was only his body which rebelled against his demeanor.

Long, slim legs gravitated towards her, the girl’s voice a beacon. Lanky arms encased in black half-boxed her against shelfs and hovered so close when they walked or stood together that the hairs on her bare arms would tingle from the energy emitted from them. The brunette could not decide if it was a trick of her mind the frequency at which slender, pale fingers brushed hers when exchanging an object retrieved for her or making a correction of a correction of a second year’s essay on proper brewing habits. The students were also having trouble trading insulting remarks on the state of the professor’s dark mane for it seemed to be more maintained nowadays. The deep locks fell about his head in a more uniform fashion, bowing slightly at the bottom and swishing assertively when her voice grabbed his attention. But the most notable changes in his demeanor were his eyes. They told less than she had ever experienced. While expression was controlled and body was in a state of secession from its host, his eyes were always contradictory to the rest of what he displayed or altogether unreadable. The only instances the girl found in catching anything valuable in his eyes were when she would turn to him unexpectedly as she began speaking, while he was standing beside her or at his desk even, and find them already on her, the softness in them disappearing quicker each time.


	8. Playfulness and Possibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is finally back and it's been very pleasant working with the professor. You shouldn't have been so foolish as to forget your bagi n any old place...but then again, maybe you knew you had to go back in your nice clothes and you knew he'd see you...and he looked so handsome in the moonlight...

_November 1987_

As the snow dusted the hill top and piled onto the great carriage-way to the entrance of the castle, the scenery became lovely, but very much less interesting each day. The rapid change from summer to fall and finally to winter had brought a frenzy of weathers. Every other day, the world outside the little window of the dungeons would give her a show. Something fierce, something beautiful. The girl enjoyed the uncertainty the coming day would bring. Some days were so breath-taking she would not dare witness it from within the castle. On those occasions, the dungeons were free from the bright sound of her stiff, clacking loafers. Other days, she would take refuge within the cobblestone walls and witness the other side of life grace the earth, protected by the thin sheet of glass. But, as November came, the extreme patterns were muted by an endless world of white. Everlasting, beautiful white. The young witch was forever grateful to welcome back winter. However, eventually, and she swore she would never admit to it, the brunette would begin placing seeds and grains a small distance from the window to the Potions classroom, just to have a bit of a show every now and then. How strange a thing that was to do. But, she did not think too much on it. There were a great many things she was not thinking too much on these days.

The girl was anticipant of winter break. She could use some free time. The brunette thought on this before she was to begin her work with the dark man seated at his desk around the corner behind her. Rich-colored eyes gazed out the window and she rested her temple on the cold, wooden frame. Before her eyes could close completely, a tired sigh falling from her, a flash of black caught her eye.

A large crow perched on a mound of soft, white flakes, eyeing the girl at the window and pecking at the bit of biscuit on the ground between weary glances. It made not a sound, which was odd for birds of this type often call to their murder when an abundance of food was discovered. The large, dark being was accompanied by no other and simply perched, hungry, cold, and alone. The girl gave a small, sad smile before making to turn away.

Then, suddenly a small thrush glided into the display.

The creature hopped about, eyeing the crow, receiving the same treatment. The larger elicited a single warning and the smaller hopped back, interesting itself in a sorry pile of old seeds a good distance away. The little one did not stay gone for long, however, having taken quite an interest in the chuck of biscuit at the foot of the crow. It gave a fearsome call of her own, the girl assumed from the small movement of its mouth, though she could not hear beyond the window. The large, black bird said no more and nor did the brown. The display was so charming she turned to the professor to bring his attention to it.

Her hair flicked out of her face as she turned to him. His dark eyes were already fixed on the window.

Snape’s eyes weren’t wide, but they were soft. The man seemed to watch the birds with an innocent fascination, his lips parted and slightly quirked. When he looked to her, she was taken aback by the lack of effort he made to look presentable. His appropriately wonderous eyes fixed upon her and she felt a sensation catch in her chest.

“What do you put out there?” asked he. She hesitated. To admit she would do such a childish thing would be mortifying.

“Me?” Wrong answer. His expression was wiped and he rolled his eyes. His gaze seemed to return to his work, but he looked back at her after the display, indicating he was unimpressed by her act.

“Yes, you.” Snape looked at her through his lashes, an eye brow quirked high in contest.

“…Bird things.” She replied, coyly. The sound of air whisking out his nose and the assertive smile he fought illuminated the room. The man looked away from her, clearing his throat and rubbing the smile away with his long fingers. A light crept into her cheeks and she allowed her smile to bloom. “Was that a laugh I heard?” With a hand still to his sharp jaw, he met her gaze.

“Of course,” he scoffed, “you said something humorous.” And with that he finally returned to his work, leaving her to return to the display out the window of the top of the biscuit under the captivation of the thrush and the other half the meal of the crow.

~[…]~

“Come on, we’ve already been keeping them waiting!” Clair begged pulling on her winter coat.

“I know, I know, just one second,” the girl assured, digging through her bag for the perfume she always liked, forcing the ends of her eyelashes to unweave in the corner of her eye with her little finger, the mascara stinging. The girl did makeup just often enough to be decent at it, but not so much her body was accustomed to the side effects of improper technique. The blonde bounced impatiently at the exit of the dorms. With one last swipe of her little finger at the corners of her lips, the brunette strode to her companion, the top of the barrel nearly whacking her as the latter flung it open.

The castle sunk into its own shadow in every hall. Without the brilliant glow from the girls’ wands, the only illumination to their path would be the deep, blue light of the moon reflecting off the rolling hills of snow. The Ravenclaws were huddled together at the entrance, but turned at the high thumps of rapidly approaching winter boots. Clair apologized for them profusely, but the others assured her and the party made to leave.

As her feet crossed the threshold to the castle and a great, biting wind swept across her face, the brunette had an inkling. Digging through the deep pockets of her parka, she found she could not seem to produce her wallet.

“Dammit!” she cried and the others acknowledged her. After she explained the situation and a couple of propositions were offered, it was decided the others would go ahead and she would catch up. The Hufflepuff knew where it was, after all: in her bag…in the Potions room. 

Hurrying back inside, the heavy winter coat was discarded and stiff booties thumped quickly to the dungeons. If she were lucky, he would be on patrol and she could slip into his room and grab her things without him ever having to see her in these awful, frilly clothes…If she were luckier, professor Snape would be sitting at his desk when she entered and would fix his eyes upon her with amazement, maybe even stutter through a compliment. She could see him now, the blood rushing to color his cheeks, his dark eyes lingering almost too long on her. The girl didn’t dare close her eyes and shake her head for long while she ran, even if her efforts to clear those thoughts from her head were valiant.

There was a different sort of feeling that came upon her as she gazed at the dark, grimy entrance. She had been here so many times before, nothing was different this time. Except…the possibility of the other side. No! She could not think like that. What possibility? There were no possibilities outside the joy and excitement of procuring her wallet. Inhaling deeply, the girl gave a short couple of raps. After a moment, a deep voice was heard from within and she entered, trying to recall the last time she had visited him late in the evening during the holiday hours.

The Potions room was pitch dark, save for the astonishingly faint glow emanating from the fireplace she had never noticed behind his desk and the brilliant light of the window.

The fire was fairly small and warmed the room marginally. The heavenly blue light from the window cast into the room, bleeding through the tiles and snaking around the objects at the edge of his desk. The rays spilled about the frame, closer to white, and reached out to pool over the professor.

He sat beneath the window on a small stood, his arms woven languidly across his chest. The raven locks fell back from his face with his head tilted back against the wall. Neck exposed, eyes fixed out the window, legs crossed at the ankles and stretched out in front of him while he reclined against the wall. He looked to her and took his time to sit up.

“I don’t mean to disturb you,” she said quickly.

“Not at all.” His hand flicked and the few lanterns around the room ignited. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing! You see,” she assured, forcing her stiff legs forward, her shoes seeming to be glued to the floor, “I just came to retrieve my bag.”

The girl made her way hurriedly over to her table, the long, jade green skirt cupping her stockinged legs and swishing about. In fewer strides, he made for her bag as well, capturing it at the moment she arrived. Snape offered her the satchel and she smiled at him with thanks, taking it, making an effort to avoid his long, perfectly sculpted fingers. Before she could make her exit, his lips parted.

“Where are you off to?” His tone was soft and dream-like tonight. He must have been sleeping at some point prior. His eyes were half-lidded for, though she wore thick soled shoes, he still reached higher than she and had to look down at her. Shouldering her leather satchel over the merry, yellow blouse she had tucked into her skirt, the witch glanced embarrassingly down at the delicate bow on her collar.

“Oh, the- Clair and- just some friends and I are planning dinner at Hogsmeade. We had discussed breakfast tomorrow instead but the night just seemed…just seemed so…” the girl trailed off as she sights fixed upon a familiar vial beside her on the shelf. A light feeling filled her. “You used the roots!” Her bright eyes fixed upon him and his shifted quickly from the vial to her. Snape’s eyes wrinkled at the edges and a small smile graced his slender lips. “How were they?”

“Perfectly well,” he replied, seating himself on the edge of the table. With his eyes at the same level as hers, the girl’s nerves settled slightly. “Can you tell what I have in there now?” He was being uncharacteristically playful. She smirked warmly at him and stepped closer to the shelf to inspect.

“Is that…gillyweed?” He confirmed and she asked if he recalled when she had commented on his gillyweed store last year. From there, they fell into pleasant, unexpected conversation.

The young witch found it so easy to move between different topics with him and enjoyed the space he allowed her to complete her thought before he replied. As they spoke, their bodies seemed to move naturally. When she would put her weight on her back leg, he would take the opportunity to lean forward with emphasis on his point. When she would fall forward slightly with giddy at his quip, he would lean back against his hands, his lips stretching out further into his shallow cheeks. Several times a lock of his hair would fall into his eyes and he flicked it with his slim hand. One final time, he seemed to give up fighting it, continuing to go on about the price of textbooks when he was in school. The girl had not realized how close they were until she reached forward effortlessly and captured the lock between her fingers, tucking it over his ear, catching him in the middle of his sentence.

Dark, onyx eyes which had been studying the shelf across the room as he spoke snapped to her. The tip of her finger still touched the back of his cold ear, frozen in place. She could not move. The man made not a movement. His entire body seemed to become arrested, his chest stopped, his eyes fixed unmoving to hers. It was an eternity without breath, without feeling. Her consciousness lived in the bottomless pools cradled beneath long, dark eyelashes. The first sensation she could recall feeling was the heavy shift of her eyes between his, looking for warning, danger, reprimand, disgust. When none could be found, she looked to his lips. They were parted, a light flush just visible in the dim incandescence. The next feeling she could recall was something between floating and falling. As the distance between them became smaller, she waited for the change, the moment when his hands would come up and push her away from him. 


	9. Privation

Cold, skinny fingers wrapped around her wrists. In her advance, she had brought her other hand up to cup his face, fingers sliding back around the sharp angle of his jaw into the hollow at the base of his ears. Her eyes had fluttered shut and she was so close to him she could feel his breath when he finally sucked in a sharp inhale. For a moment, it seemed as if he would take her arms by the wrists and pull her towards him. But, he did not.

The wizard pulled her hands off him gently and stood, forcing her to backpedal slightly. His hands gripped her upper arms and moved her to the side, jumping from her as if they’d been burned.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped, breathless, as quickly as she could.

“Don’t apologize.” His tone was unreadable. She was frantic. What should she do? What excuse was there? What was she thinking?

He had turned from her and was distancing them. His tone was neither fierce nor evident of suppressed desire. Pale features were hidden from her view and what was visible was distorted in the poorly lit space. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt dizzy. One foot fell forward, making to advance, but she decided otherwise in the end.

“I,” she began just barely above a whisper. “I…Thank you…for my bag.” And without waiting for his response, which would not come, she hurried out and closed the door quietly behind her.

~[…]~

The girl did not return to his classroom the next day or the day after. She became busied with greenhouse work or board games in the commons room or, even, casual hanging about with housemates. The Hufflepuff forced herself to be distracted, refusing to think about what she should do when the next semester began. Days passed as those who were close to her noticed her unusual company. While many of them heartily welcomed it, their inquiries came none-the-less. Beery’s were the most difficult to respond to because his were specifically in regards to her current relationship with the Potions master.

“You both seem in a rather deary mood as of late,” he began, moving the bag of tea in his cup about absently and flicking away a lump of dirt on the garden table they sat at. The brunette didn’t meet Beery’s eyes. Snape had been different lately? Rich, brown orbs sat fixed at her steaming beverage. She hadn’t been looking at the dark professor very often recently. An inquiry about the specifics of his recent attitude sat poised on her pressed lips. But, it would never come. Rather, she assured him and mustered a smile she could feel didn’t reach her eyes. He didn’t press. The rest of their lunch passed quieter than usual and they parted less enthusiastically.

The sky warmed and the rain fell then froze overnight, condensing the white mounds to greying pools of sadness. Days passed lazy and uninterestingly without the Potions room to experiment in and without the man within to talk to. The Hufflepuffs enjoyed each other’s company, but every so often, the girl would feel an absence she couldn’t shake. Along with professor Beery, it wasn’t long before Clair noticed her companion was less enthusiastic than usual and pried for reasoning.

It frustrated her that she was so affected. The distance was good. The witch enjoyed Snape’s company, but to feel this…longing for his presence was…silly. It _was_.

The next day she kicked through the fluffy, fresh flakes to her tree, unaccompanied. It was a bright Christmas eve morning, the white sun in the clear sky blinding. The brunette mulled over her thoughts for the tenth time that day, wondering what she should do about what she was feeling. If there was anything she should do. She would see him when classes began. Things would return to normal after a couple of classes and all would be well, she convinced herself. While her mind felt satisfied with that conclusion, something in her chest still remained skeptical and incomplete. When her snow boots kicked the terrible, wispy, white stuff into the spot she liked to sit at the base of her tree, the girl released a great sigh.

The bark was rough and cold against her crown. Her scarf itched at the base of her nape. A sharp wind wormed its way through the fibers of her gloves and her sacred space seemed less enjoyable than usual. Her bottom stayed seated for as long as she saw fit for her place to redeem itself, but to no avail. Frozen, gloved hands pushed her stiff body off the ground and the wet powder fell from her shoulder, when, suddenly, a deep voice caught her attention.

Dark hair fell into her eyes as she whipped her head up, disbelief no doubt smeared across her face. Snow graced her cheek as she brushed her locks back. The man, wrapped in black, winter robes, a jade green scarf hugging his neck, had greeted her, sitting on the other side of the large root that had been beside her. He was not looking at her but did when the sound of her gasp reached him over the light wind.

“Professor Snape!” she had said, suddenly sounding breathless. “H-hello, sir.”

His thin brows furrowed slightly for a moment. The formality felt strange even in her mouth.

“How have you been enjoying your holiday?” asked he, his knee bent and his long arm rested on it. It surprised her to see him sitting on his suited trousers in the snow, his long feet adorned with worn bluchers.

“Sir, did you walk all the way out here in _those_?” Without acknowledging she had evaded his question, he considered his shoes for a moment.

“Of course,” he replied with a frown that was growing playful, “it would be rather foolish of me to walk all the way out here barefoot only to don my shoes for the purpose of sitting down.” The girl felt a familiar warmth spread through her and she bit back a smile. She had missed his quips.

“I only meant it would have been quite the sight to see the great professor Snape marching about in big ol’ winter boots,” she retorted coyly, pursing her lips against a smirk. His eyes glittered and his lips curled with a mocking “ha. ha.”. The girl grinned and looked down to her feet at this. When her eyes returned to him, his black ones held a glint of genuine glee within them.

They sat together, a knotted root between them. Neither of them mentioned what happened or the state either of them had been in through the past week. Only pleasantries…for a while. The hours passed and soon the subject could not be avoided. There came a lull in the conversation and, with the absence of the wind, the silence was more prominent. As she gathered the words she wanted to say, wondering if she should say anything at all, Snape’s lips parted and the subject was exposed.

“I hope you are making excellent progress in the greenhouses. I’m sure the extra time this past week has been very helpful. I…look forward to seeing your return to the Potions room…Should that be your intention. As your professor, I…I certainly believe that to continue the separation would…would be most unfortunate. This being due to…to your…studies…” All the while as he spoke, he would not meet her eyes from around the tree, though it had seemed no great feat moments before. So, he had felt the absence similar to she. All that nonsense about her studies wasn’t complete bogus, but she knew that was not his primary concern. Their relationship meant more than that. But, to come out and say that was not within his nature. To save him from fighting to continue to justify himself under outrageous pretenses, she interrupted him.

“I understand you,” she smiled and the wizard finally met her gaze. “And I agree.” A look of relief swept briefly across his thin face and they spoke no more on the matter.

The sky over the lake grew brighter before it became darker. When the two of them decided it might be best to head back to the castle, the clouds reflected vibrant oranges and purples. No one else bothered to trek this way and their footsteps were the only disturbances in the thickening snow. While first plowing through it, it was quite the shock that professor Snape seemed to be unperturbed walking without boots. Upon inquiry, he assured her that he would not have left the covered grounds without enchanting his trousers and shoes.

Eventually, the conversation roamed to their plans for the next day: Christmas. As per usual, he had no plans in particular and she planned to visit the greenhouses for a bit. When there came a pause in their conversing, she offered to visit the Potions room for a quick bit of fun experimentation and to keep him company. The Slytherin gave a small smile and replied that the gesture would be well-received, then inquired on accompanying her to the greenhouses, for he needed to harvest some more non-sentients to begin drying. Rather than have her bring him another order, he felt that the trip would be beneficial to himself to get out of the dungeons.

“Blimey, professor,” she joked. “You and your herbs. You ought to ask Santa for a mini garden of your own.” The girl laughed but was taken aback when he expressed no joy.

“It…is not my intention to inconvenience you I on-”

“Oh, no! I don’t mean that. I was only joking!” The place between his eyes smoothed and he gave her a gentle smile. A warmth spread through her chest and she looked away.

“It’s rather easy to lose track of time out there,” said the man.

“I agree. Especially while with pleasant company,” she replied, smiling, but without making eye contact with the towering man beside her.

The couple reached the entrance sooner than she’d liked. Though the thought of continuing their conversation in his office danced on the tip of her tongue, she was rather hungry and knew she had a few snacks in the dorm. They bade each other adieu once they got to the part of the castle where they were required to separate.

As she walked away, she tipped her nose just briefly over her shoulder to steal one last glance at the elegant way his sharp, angular form glided further from her, returning her head just as quickly as she had looked after meeting his dark eyes, unexpectedly, his pale, hooked nose tipped over his shoulder in just the same way. 


	10. Plants and Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day with the professor

_Christmas Day_ _1987_

As the crisp, bright light trickled from the window in the morning hours, the girl lay with her head pressed to the pillow. Soft, unfocused eyes rested on the chipped corner of a honey-colored nightstand beside her bed. Within her mind, thoughts ran wild of the day passed, the day to come. Professor Snape. He had almost kissed her. _She!_ _She_ had almost kissed him. As to his intentions…she knew he enjoyed her company. To hope for anything more from him would be foolish, to say the least. But, the soft look in those dark eyes persisted in her mind. What was he thinking when he was with her?

There was a fit of creaking above in the top bunk and Clair hopped down, the sound of her impact startling those in the dorm who weren’t already awake.

“ _Christmas!_ ” She grinned at the brunette, whisper-shouting. Over and over the blonde whispered the word excitedly, dragging the girl from her bed and away from her thoughts for the morning as they unwrapped their gifts in a fury.

The two entered the great hall and basked in its splendor. Enchanted flakes fluttered down gently, disappearing before they could disturb the heads of the students. Full streamers of wreaths connected with elegant, red bows sat atop the peaks of the tall windows. The enchanting winter morning burst through the window panes, rendering the graceful lanterns a needless source of illumination. The young witch couldn’t seem to put her chin down all through breakfast, stuck marveling at the sight around her. When she was able to, she chatted with others in her year at her table and filled her mouth with warm breakfast food, the inviting smells of the banquet before them straining her indecisiveness. While she enjoyed the company of her housemates, the Hufflepuff refused to waste her breakfast without catching the eye of the Potions master. After her marveling and brief conversing, her sights fixed upon the staff table and immediately identified the man she sought.

His eyes found her just as easily and the two exchanged a warm greeting. They would have time to speak properly after breakfast. _After breakfast._ It was coming so soon. Her stomach suddenly squirmed and she’d lost her appetite.

What would she say? What if there was a lull in the conversation? She could not recall ever having been in the gardens with him. The girl knew she was a little more excitable in the gardens. There were many greenhouses. They would be alone, walking together. They had been alone before! Why was this any different? It wasn’t. _It wasn’t_ , she decided.

She stood from the table, wiping her mouth with a yellow napkin and informing Clair where she would be. Her eyes shifted to the staff table to signal professor Snape, but she could not locate him. Outside the mess hall, she found her winter jacket and boots and swept them into her arms.

He waited for her at the entrance of the castle, his body stiff and pulled inward. When she approached, the sound of her loafers no doubt caught his ear and he turned to her with a greeting and a small, familiar smile.

~[…]~

The greenhouses smelled dense and fresh and alive. The heat pressed their cloaks to their arms, forcing them to strip to their essential layers whilst touring the buildings. After a while, she had noticed the outside world had hardly crossed her mind. The couple walked together to houses and split apart to inspect plants, then came back together, all the while floating in and out of a conversation that seemed endless, in a pleasant way.

Professor Snape was an interesting one to witness out of his element. A large, wicker basket rested in the crook of his arm by the handle, and his other long appendage reached to the very highest products of the plants around them. The man was particular. Very particular about his produce. Each leaf, root, and flower was scrutinized beneath his slim, hooked nose, the fibers of the being between his pale fingertips trembling. It was a different kind of attention than she was used to in her houses. Beery was quick, excitable, and openly meticulous. With his energy often filling up the space, the girl felt comfortable to be more reserved in her work, but not so much as the dark professor on the other side of the room.

The young herbologist smiled to herself after witnessing him wrinkle his nose at the same sensitive joint-vetch once again. She tipped the spout of the watering can into the deep ceramic pots beside her and thought on-

Suddenly he was very close.

The girl’s joints stiffened. Her lungs felt heavy in her chest. He was not so close that any part of him actually touched her, but so much so that the ambient warmth increased and she could feel her face flush. Her eyes shot to the side and the long line of his body, wrapped in worn, black fabric, caught her eye. She turned away, forcing herself to move naturally. None of that. Not while all was well and decent.

Her legs took her to her own, little garden in the back area, and his followed shortly after.

The space was filled with light, many of her plants bare of produce. The small, glass box of her office held her desk and a couple of chairs, for her and Beery, usually. Sitting at her desk, she wondered when was the last she had been with anyone other than professor Beery in her garden. Papers were straightened out on her desk and she tucked away her journals into drawers. She collapsed into her comfortable, wheeled chair, the kinds that allow one to rock back and forth about the axis of the wheels, and looked out over the grounds, following the contour of the line of the snow built up against the windows.

“What is this space?”

The girl swiveled around in her chair and faced him.

“This is my garden.” Black eyes fell from her to the bare, faded desk beside her, then all around as he set his basket of plants down. “When I started really getting interested in gardening,” she began turning to look out over the grounds, “Bee- professor Beery surprised me with this little area. I germinate the plants myself and then bring them here and take care of them as best I can. I think I’ve done fairly well so far. The valerian roots I gave to you were from here…Who knows, depending on how I fair these coming years, my little space might be bigger someday. I might…even have several greenhouses to tend to…a classroom of my own.” Her voice had become very small at this point, unsure how wishful her thinking was becoming. If she shared a dream too close to her heart and he gave her the cold reality of it all, she might…the witch didn’t know. But, she knew it wouldn’t help her determination. After all, what else was she good at?

“You want to be a teacher?” asked he, quietly. Her teeth exposed themselves gradually in a nervous grin.

“Yes? I’ve never really considered much else…” she trailed off after turning back to him. He had sat down in the wooden chair opposite her, his elbows on his knees, leaned forward. “I enjoy the work I do here and I’m not sure where else I can be successful doing what I love right now. Not without mentioning, of course, how much I adore being at Hogwarts. I…don’t know if I’d like to be in very many other places after I graduate…I-“ She stopped short at the sight of his expression.

To describe it would require the evidence of many assumptions. His brow was furrowed, his eyes were wider and pinched at the ends and his lips were pressed into a tight line.

“You’re looking at me strangely,” said she, and the wizard's expression collapsed in surprise. “What’s that…” she began and started to make a quip, but something about his demeanor was off. “Oh…oh, I should have _never_ tried to-! Oh, bollocks everything’s weird now!”

“No,” he tried to break in.

“ _Yes_! Merlin, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry. It was completely inappropriate I-“

“No.”

“I understand at this age I just-and…”

“Yes, I know.” Her eyes scanned the floor, looking for the right words to set things back to how they were.

“I’m so sorry I wish I could erase all that and-“ her eyes met his, “I don’t know I-“

Snape leaned forward so quickly she had no time to close her lips before his were on hers. He caught her bottom lip and a bit of her top before she pulled back startled. The witch could not believe what had just happened. His porcelain face was still inches from hers, a blurry look of panic crossed his features as he made to pull away quickly.

Olive hands, gritty from gardening flew forth and captured his head by his jaw, fingers sliding to the sides of his head as she pressed her lips to his. His slender mouth was warm, his ears were cold, his breath was hot. She made contact with a tight mouth that softened then pressed into hers. He sucked a shuttering breath in and melted into her hands. She never knew kissing would feel like this. His hands snaked around her forearms, sliding lightly up to her wrists as she turned her head, deepening the kiss. She broke from him with a soft, wet sound, pulling away.

Snape’s cold hands had slid over hers, cupping her hands to his angular face. His eyes stayed closed a moment after she pulled from him, the long, black lashes brushing his deeply rouged cheekbones, his expression soft, lips still parted. When she moved from him, his body seemed to fall after her, but the man caught himself and opened his eyes, the lids settling half-way up. The wizard swallowed and met her eyes, looking back and forth between them. They flickered to her lips briefly, but she leaned back, slipping her hands from his.

“What…does this mean?” she asked, their hands in their laps. Snape’s eyebrows twitched inward.

“What…does-does this…nothing. _Nothing,_ ” the man hissed suddenly, standing and stepping away from her little corner. “It can’t. This is completely inappropriate. You’re-I’m- ” A fire flickered in her chest. Snape was cowering from this. He was avoiding making an explicit statement on how he felt.

“Don’t you do this, too, again,” she warned, stepping up, a soft glare pointed at his back. “Twice now this has happened. We’re… _lying_ to ourselves. We’re- ”

“Being _foolish_!” he growled turning to face her.

“ _You’re_ being foolish. We can’t run from this. We _shouldn’t_.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re confused. You’re-you’re-”

“I _like_ you!” the girl cried, taking him by surprise. Struck by silence, the girl felt a flood of confidence and found the words falling from her mouth before she could help herself. “I like how you speak and how you think. I like that I can think around you and you make me laugh. I like that you’re the one I want to tell when something goes right in the gardens and that you make me feel like I can be as good as I want to be.”

The man’s teeth were still bared, the forced sneer on his face melting against his efforts. They stood there for a long moment, chests heaving, slightly. Then, the slender brows tipped upward at the middle and his eyes softened. Narrow shoulders slumped and long legs closed the distance between them. His lips pressed to hers and his hands carded softly through her hair. He kissed her fiercely and held her tightly, gasping softly when her hands slipped under his arms and around his back.

The same narrow, lean body she remembered from last spring had not changed. Her fingers relished in the warmth, sandwiched between his winter cloak and his back, gently pulling them together. Their chests brushed just as he pulled away, close enough still for their noses to touch.

“We will be discovered,” Snape gasped against her lips. The two touched their mouths briefly before pulling apart and gathering their things

The girl was thrilled to still be able to walk with him and converse as they always had, even if their tones were softer and they caught each other’s eyes more often, finding flirtatious looks. When they left the gardens and walked across the grounds to the castle, he staying father from her and wouldn’t meet her eyes as often, adopting a stern look, deep in contemplation whenever they allowed the silence to stretch comfortably.

At the entrance to his classroom, he entered, but the witch mentioned going to see the rest of her house and that she would see him at the Christmas dinner. His dark hair swished when he turned to respond to her. Even in the dimming light of his classroom, the growing longing in his eyes reached her. He nodded but crossed the room to meet her at the door.

“See you soon, professor,” she smirked after placing a peck at the corner of his mouth, then turned to leave.

“Wait,” the word fell from his lips quietly and he caught her gently by the wrist with a grip so light she could easily continue walking out of his hand. When she turned, he half-pulled and half-stepped toward her. Her chin was tipped by a single, pale finger, encouraging her to meet his dark eyes. “Please. When we’re alone…” he leaned down to her, his eyes falling to her mouth, and spoke his final words so close their lips brushed, “call me ‘Severus’.”


	11. Presumption and Passion

The rest of the winter holiday was positively magical. Their time spent together was very much the same, except they were closer more often. She felt comfortable touching his arm, his back, kissing his cheek, speaking flirtatiously with him. He seemed to feel comfortable holding her waist, kissing her head, giving her coy looks. After a day or two of their updated routine, Snape expressed his disdain for the potions room and his office, eventually.

On that day, she smiled at his slight outburst and began packing her things, bidding him good-bye. At this, the man piped up, standing from his desk.

“Would you care to join me?” asked he. Where did he mean? Where else did professor Snape go when he wasn’t in his classroom.

“S-sure!” He smiled and gathered his bag, which she rarely ever saw him use.

They exited and locked the potions room, then, rather than turn left to make to head out of the dungeons, he led her to the right, further into the dark, grimy hall. They exchanged no words as they wove deeper into the labyrinth, past faint torch after torch, gliding past his office without a glance. After a few minutes of walking, the girl once again impressed at the size of the castle, they came to a dark, wooden door that looked very much like it took after the same style as the ones leading to his office and classroom, but it was thinner. The man beside her brought his wand up but did nothing immediately. The tip of his wand hovered over the handle for just a moment before he tapped the two together and quickly pushed open the door.

Had it not been for the window, the room would have been quite dark. She stayed at the entrance, peeking in at the bright light pouring in through the floor-length pane of glass divided by thin, wooden frames. Against the wall, beside the window but not illuminated by it, a small cot was tucked into the corner, the sheets and blankets askew, save of the bottom corners and the edge against the wall; evidence of a sleeper who slots into the same place every night and displaces only the coverings he uses when he arises. Across the small room from the bed, there was a twee fireplace, which seemed to be engaged with a worn love-seat before it. While she wasn’t very keen with room compositions which consisted of furniture stations with their backs exposed, preferring them to be up against a wall, the way this room was set up felt natural.

“Do you plan to stand there all day?” asked the wizard turning his head from where he was hanging his bag. Suddenly flustered, she stepped inside quickly and shut the door. She hung her bag on the wooden hook beside his and began respectfully exploring.

Severus took a while to move from the stiff position he had adopted beside the coat hangers and settle into the couch while she took a gander about the room. Within the quarters, there was a desk with a chair, beside the coat hanger, a tall bookshelf, previously hidden by the door, and the items she spotted before entering completely. To inspect his room like this was…probably very strange. Regardless, he rarely spoke of himself. The pieces of him she was able to gather together came from what she saw of his surroundings. His bookshelf was most interesting.

Fables, textbooks, poetry, biographies, one could only name it and it would be there. All were in plain English, and he certainly favored literature that pertained to potions and wizardry. However, the girl spotted Dickens and Bronte, with an Austen or two, she noted. The witch squatted to peer at the lower shelves, her wool skirt slipping further over her stockinged legs.

“May I?” asked she, her eyes turning to meet his, which had been watching her inspect his shelf.

“Naturally.” She plucked a title from the shelf, _Mrs. Dalloway_ , and stood. “Will you take me one as well?”

“Which one?”

“Any will do,” he replied with a small smirk. She smiled back and, without leaving his eyes, blindly took a book, raising her eyebrows at him in challenge. A genuine smile spread across his face and he flicked his wand. The title flew from her fingers and he caught it with a flirtatious quirk of his eyebrow. Laughing at their jest, she popped her loafers off by the door and bound over to sit on the other end of the couch.

And so gone where the days taken up by time spent in his office or classroom. Instead, they found themselves on the love-seat or one on the cushions while the other was at the desk. Once or twice, though she was ashamed to admit it, the lazy afternoon would possess her and she would fall asleep on the couch, curled over a book, her head against her knees, and wake up to find herself in his bed, the top of the dark locks of his falling over the top of the couch. Those were some of her more embarrassing days, knowing he had had to pick her up to get her to his bed, but also the days she enjoyed the most.

His pillow, his sheets, and his blankets. Each took part in engulfing her in the dense smell of man. Waking with her face half-buried in his pillowcase, hot, groggy, slightly deprived of air from being half-suffocated, made her wonder what it would be like to really snog him. The first time she had woken up in his bed, she was startled, then disappointed at the sight of him working across the room. Severus’ bed was small but just such that they would not be able to lie apart comfortably. She made an effort not to fall asleep while spending time with him. However, whenever she did, she longed for the time when she would wake up to find his arms wrapped around her, her bare back touching his equally stark chest, legs intertwined and unrestrained by trousers, the curve of their bodies fitting together allowing her to feel-

The girl’s eyes flew open and she pulled away from the blankets she had pressed to her nose. Fingers raked through her hair, smoothing the wildness. Feet slipped into his old, worn slippers and hobbled to the restroom through the archway across the room beside the fireplace. When she came out, she felt a great deal more refreshed and bounced to the loveseat to sit beside the wizard brooding over his book on his back.

Long legs and arms untangled from the very top and bottom of the furniture, the man sitting up with a deep, quiet greeting, her first name settling on his lips. The formalities had been dropped for days, but every chance to address her informally he took, and she would admit that she did the same. Settling where his head had been, she piped up and assured him he could lay back down if he wanted. Dark eyes met hers, unsure for a moment, then he lay back down, his hair pooling in her lap. Severus looked up at her with an asking look. The girl smiled down at him and the gesture encouraged one of his own to bloom across his face. His head finally settled with its full weight in her lap and he rolled his shoulders, returning the book and flipping it open, scrunching his face in that contemplative scowl.

Thoughts of the semester to come came to her mind as she tipped her head back against the couch. Her contemplations grew nebulous and, eventually, her hand found itself entangled with black locks. Coarse and dark, the state of his hair had improved and, even, some color began living in his face and hands. Full, but slender eyebrows dipped, scrunching the smooth, white skin, lips pursed. The witch combed back his tresses, scratching here and there softly. In the silence of the room, a deep, quiet hum resounded. Severus’ eyes fell shut and his expression softened dramatically. When the book fell to his chest, and her fingers stopped the small swirls she was carving against his scalp, his black eyes flew open, a flush painting his cheeks. The spheres flickered to the side, and he suddenly looked very small in her lap. The girl bit her lip, grinning at his bashfulness.

The swirls resumed and her fingers tangled themselves in his hair. Deep, serious eyes fought against fluttering shut, but it took little more time until Severus’ shoulders relaxed and his head tipped back against her hand. She swirled her nails over his scalp and rubbed with the pad of her thumb here and there, all the while a small, pleasant, lazy smile creeping onto the face in her lap. Looking away from his blissful expression, she leaned back against the couch and studied the room. When her eyes found their way back to him, he was looking up at her.

At first, she wanted to look away, having caught his eye. But, although flushed, she returned her gaze and met his again. He had never looked at her like that before.

Eyes open and looking between the two of hers, cheeks blossoming with red, lips parted. She traced the distinct carved depression of his cupids bow with her eyes and followed the line down to his bottom lip, pale, soft, slightly glistened. Her mouth ached to slot into its place against his, but the angle was too awkward. Moving to meet his eyes, Severus was staring openly at her lips, his eyebrows tipped at the center. Their eyes met, then flickered to each other’s lips. The man slid up onto his elbow and finally met their lips.

They turned and pivoted about each other’s mouths, the girl experimenting with opening her mouth and very quickly open-mouthed kisses dominated. There was a slight jerk when Severus dislodged his arm from beneath him and propped himself against the arm of the couch, boxing her against the furniture, and her hand rested on his stomach, sliding up his chest to weave into his hair, pulling him closer.


	12. Passion, Parties, and Pleasure

_January 1988_

Before the snow could properly leave them, classes had to begin. It was an abrupt change she welcomed reluctantly, which was unusual, she realized one evening while walking back from Herbology. She loved the material she was picking up in alchemy and defense against the dark arts, and certainly everything she was doing in Herbology, but the girl couldn’t shake the thoughts of Severus.

Potions class was suddenly one she both craved and dreaded. Her seat beside the window always put her the closest to him, his long, dark robes hissing against the dirty floor-stones as he paced. The low hum of his voice went from captivating to a rich buzz that filled her ears while she gazed at him, her head in her hands, elbows propped on her table. Her eyes slid from the clean, straight buttons of his vest up his lean chest to his striking. Black. Piercing. Eyes. Oh, merlin.

“Is it not so?” his words pierced through her thoughts, her surname and prefix drawn out on his lips his eyes fixed upon her.

“Y-yes!” she responded, sitting up out of her hands, her voice quieter and sounding more like a question than an affirmation. A few snickers rippled through the class and she knew she’d answered wrongly. Severus’ scowl broke into a satisfied smirk before he snapped at the room to be silent.

“’Yes’ it _is_ so or ‘yes’ it isn’t?” he continued coyly, repeating her name.

“Yes, it is,” the Hufflepuff responded confidently, fearing backlash but suddenly struck with the desire to be valiant.

“Oh, it is now?”

“Yes, it is.” A malevolent twinkle danced in his eye and he pursed his lips against a smirk.

“Wandering thoughts does not a successful young witch have.” And with that, his expression went flat and her nerves tingled, her heart pounded.

~[…]~

Sharp, quick steps wove through the dungeon’s halls, past Severus’ office and torch after identical torch. The way seemed shorter the more she took it. Even though they were past formalities, she still knocked on the door to his private quarters.

When he opened it, it was sharp and he seemed mildly irked. A pang of nervousness ran through her and she quickly gathered her words to take her leave. But, his expression melted and he greeted her with a warm smile, saying her name for the first time that week, her first name.

“Hello, Severus. Can I come in?”

“Please,” the man stepped to the side and they seemed to fall back into place in each other’s worlds. He took her bag from her shoulder and hung it while she stepped out of her shoes and toed them to sit next to his by the door.

“What was that in potions?” she asked, playfully curious. He said nothing while he helped her out of her jacket, but there was a soft, quick sound like that of a snicker.

“I could ask you the same.” The girl turned to face him once her jacket was hung.

“What do you mean?”

“You know precisely what I mean. While I was lecturing you were…somewhere else.”

“Sorry? Hardly! I just…went out for a bit, but I swear I was listening.” They were on the couch now and the man’s eyes wandered around the floor, avoiding hers. “Severus.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“…What?”

“What were you thinking about?” he asked, the soft, asking look in his eyes enough to draw her own eyes away.

“I-I don’t remember,” she mumbled quickly. He gazed at her for a while in the silence, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Eventually a sigh escaped him and he slouched back into the cushions.

“You sure were flushed,” he snorted and she bumped his arm with her shoulder, grinning. “‘Y-yes it is!’” the wizard mocked in a high-voice.

“ _Severus_!” They snickered and eventually entangled themselves on the couch, out of breath. Grins shone at each other and their lips locked without hesitation.

It felt effortless now, like dancing. It felt so natural to be connected to him by his lips, more natural than being apart. His long, slender hands found her waist and tentatively held her, his sharp hip jutting through his robes into the soft flesh of her stomach. When they had fallen back onto the couch, he had not adjusted out of the sitting position he had assumed and instead lay twisted and awkward with her on top of him. But it was heaven pressed against him, finally. _Finally_. The week without that was terrible.

“You.”

“Pardon?’ he gasped in reply between kisses.

“What…I was thinking about…You.” His hands tightened around her waist and a deep sound escaped his mouth into hers. The couch protested against their change in positions, but before she knew it she was on her back and he was between her legs.

Severus pressed into her, his teeth tentatively catching her lip a couple of times. His arms caged her against the cushions, long, warm, and assertive. The girl snaked her arms about his, suddenly desperate for his hair, his jaw, his arms. A sensation pulled at her abdomen. Her fingers found the endless line of buttons down his chest and made quick work to undo them. A growl reverberated against her lips and before she could loosen another, his pale fingers wrapped around her wrists, pinning her hands away from her body. Her gasp was swallowed by his lips.

Hips dug into hers. Lips left hers and his hot breath trailed down her neck. Her arms strained against his grip. And then a knock came at the door.

Silence.

Another knock.

“Severus?” a wizened voice called from behind the door. The man had frozen above her, his eyes sharp and murderous, narrowed at the door.

“Bathroom,” he hissed and released her hands. The knock came again while they scrambled off each other and the witch scurried to the loo, her heart pounding.

From within, she could hear the muffled exchange between the wizards, but couldn’t make out words, only the distinct, irritated sound of the man who had pinned her to the couch, snogging her. She grinned to herself. Her wrists tingled from where he had held her and her chest was tight. The girl caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stared back for a moment. Hair disheveled in the back, face flushed bright all the way down her neck, her uniform all kinds of un-tucked. While she fixed her skirt and finger-combed her hair, thoughts of what might happen when she walked out the door ran through her mind. She’d never had sex before, but they weren’t too far away, were they?

Did she want to have sex now? With him? Severus was…a brilliant man. Handsome, too. What was he used to? Would she be able or willing to give it? A soft rap sounded on the bathroom door and she startled. She opened the door and found him standing with his buttons redone and his hair strangely fixed up. Standing beside him, she looked very much as if she had been thoroughly snogged and he…did not. He made no advance so she flew forward to capture him by the rebuttoned collar and pick up where they left off. Only, he caught her gently by the shoulders. The girl looked at him askingly.

“T- ” he began, his voice thick before he cleared it, a flush growing on his cheeks, “That was too close…let’s step back, shall we?” and he pressed a kiss to her crown. The fire in her gut simmered and she was oddly…disappointed. Was she more ready for _that_ than she realized?

They settled into their spots on the couch after getting their own cuppa, falling into pleasant conversation. Evening settled into night and, when the tea ran out, they snagged a book and she lay her head on his lap while he read. The couple stayed like that for a while. His low, soothing voice trailing past her, while she plucked fuzzies from his pajama pants. At one point, however, he stopped.

The book did not move from where he held it, but his tone switched from reading to conversational.

“…Does my age bother you?”

“Of course not,” she assured quickly, furrowing her eyebrows. “Where did this come from?”

When he said nothing, she looked up at him and said his name askingly. Severus blinked and looked down at her, having been lost in thought.

“Nowhere, I was just wondering.” She didn’t quite believe him but figured it would be best not to pry. Although…she was curious.

“Alright,” she began, pausing. “If…if you don’t mind me asking, then. How old _are_ you?” He huffed out a short laugh.

“You ask as if the answer is something outlandish. When I’ll only be 27 come next Friday.”

“ _What_?” the girl gasped and sat up. Fear crossed his face and he closed the book. “You’re birthday’s next _Friday_?”

Severus paused, frozen in fear. Then his shoulders relaxed and he scoffed in relief, rolling his eyes. “Yes.”

“ _Severus!_ When were you planning on telling me? Oh, Merlin,” she cried and ran a hand through her hair.

“It’s nothing to fret about, I assure you.”

“Nothing, my arse!” He rolled his eyes again, grinning, and leaned forward to kiss her.

~[…]~

Today was the day! The Hufflepuff made sure the very first thing she did was scurry down to his classroom before classes started and wish the potions master happy birthday. While in his office, he rarely dared to kiss her, but the small smile on his lips told her he was more than pleased to see her. Bouncing away, she spent her first class (which was free) to make plans for tonight.

By the end of the day, everything was in order and, after dinner, she hurried to the kitchen to pick up the cake. Her stiff loafers clacked through the dungeons, her green blouse clung to her underarms in dank halls. Inside his room, it was warmer but still fairly chilled. He wouldn’t be there for a while, so she had some time.

The witch produced her wand and got to work setting the fire, fixing his bed up, prepping some tea. She had left the dining hall before him but had spent too long dressing. Music was put on in the corner of the room, the soft sounds emanated from an unwanted record player found in the music hall. When the door open, the girl had just been setting down the tea-cupped size cake for the fourth time, making to use the loo, but picked it back up and spun around with a weak “…happy birthday to you”.

Severus’ eyes went wide and jumped from her to the candles around the room to the music player and then back to her. He stayed frozen in the doorway, staring at her in shock before his expression melted, his eyebrows tilting upwards. In three, large strides, he’d captured her waist and lips.

The man’s arms snaked around her, pulling her waist towards him and carding his fingers through her hair to cup her jaw. The edges of the little plate bumped their chests and she tried to get a word out between passionate kisses

“S-…Sever…The cake.”

“Oh, bugger the cake,” he growled against her lips, snatching it from between them and dipping her as they kissed so he could set it on the table. A thrill ran through her and she raked her hands through his hair deepening the kiss. They pulled away breathless, the only sound the music going faintly behind her. For a moment, they stared at each other looking between each other’s eyes.

“No one’s ever…” he began, the rumble of his rich baritone voice vibrating her chest. The girl smiled and kissed his sharp, shallow cheek.

“Let’s have some cake, hmm?”

“I’ll get the tea.”

~[…]~

The morning was cold, but the light was returning earlier still. Severus stared at the ceiling, the fire out, the sheets thin and stiff. He thought about her, as he usually did early in the morning. Everything she’d done last night had been quite unexpected. But…he’d lost control of himself. Again. He sucked the inside of his cheek further inward and bit it slightly, trying to rub the shame from his mind with his hands.

The clock above his desk said it was only 6, but he knew he ought to get up. Long, spindly fingers ran through his greasy hair, then rubbed his eyes. Out of the covers he slipped, but found his slippers were across the room, by the couch, where she’d left them. Her name left his lips quietly, in a playfully reprimanding way. Retrieving his wand, his slippers returned to him and he rose stiffly. 

The room was silent as death without her, he noticed. Even her breathing seemed to fill it with a sense of life. The young woman had left his quarters later than usual last night, after returning his room to the way it was. A part of him wished she hadn’t. Severus turned the knob of the shower and looked around his small, cramped bathroom. Looking around his room, even, he couldn’t find any evidence she spent so much time here.

The water splashed onto his back and soaked his hair, trickling down the hollow of his chest. The shower was warm and welcoming and the steam filled his lungs. Hot and engulfing like when they get tangled on the couch. His dark eyes flew open and he cursed himself, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. None of that.

While his mind wandered as he scrubbed his body, the man kept his thoughts in check for the most part. The clear stream wiped the stark canvas of his chest of sudds and, even after he was clean, Severus turned about under the showerhead. Each thread of water carded against his scalp and fell about his angular shoulders, down his legs to pool around his feet.

The sensation felt like fingers, short and warm running through his hair and down the sides of his jaw, touching his chest, his hands remembering the feeling of her soft hair, the place he could slot his arms around her waist. Her voice rang in his ears and suddenly it all felt so real he could almost smell her.

Severus felt a throb in his abdomen and started at the sensation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done… _that_. It was only when the warmth ran down from his stomach, spilling onto his hardened prick, that the man gave in.

His arm braced against the cold tiles beside his head. His eyes closed and he melted in the water, swallowing thickly, breathing hard, bring his hand up to wrap around himself. His manhood jolted in his hand, a forgotten sensation drawing a strangled sound from his throat. Teeth closed around a tight fist, his forehead pressed to the wall. His grip tightened and began stroking slowly. His face felt hot and his hips bucked into his hand. His body fell into an instinctive pattern, tightening and loosening his grip on his cock, teasing and satisfying him deliciously. His mouth pulled off of his hand and a string of moans poured out, heightening the response from his ministrations. Without his intending to do so, the girl appeared in his mind. Her hand wrapped around him and trailed down his neck from his jaw. A glottal noise escaped him and he pumped himself faster. The knot tightened in his stomach and a wave took over him. He squeezed around himself and cried out, bucking into his hand.

For a moment, he couldn’t feel his body. The release felt appropriately overdo and his body shuttered once or twice after, emptying himself on the tiled wall. Severus pulled his face from the wall and let go of himself, letting the water run down his body to wash him off and wincing at the sensitivity of his prick. Once the shower was returned to a more appropriate state, he shut the water off and stepped out.

He had forgotten how satisfying that felt but knew it would be a while before he allowed himself to do that again. The innocent girl flashed in his mind and bit the inside of his cheek in shame. She was brilliant. She did not deserve a man who cannot control himself. Severus ripped the towel off the hook beside him and rubbed himself down. How childish was he? Wanking in the shower like a bloody schoolboy. In the middle of scolding himself, he caught himself in the mirror. Huffing with growing shame and anger, he scrubbed the towel across the mirror and glared at the man reflected back at him.

That man was scarcely such. His thin neck connected to skinny shoulders, the bones jutting out on either side. A meager line of hair donned the patch between his pectorals and another trailed down to his limp manhood. Ribs protruded, distinct enough to count. Pale arms so thin he could break. He was skinny. Weak. She would never see him like this.

Never.


	13. Plans

_April 1988_

Merry yellow rays bounced off the glistened dew, seated atop blades of jade falling in waves across the grounds. Children cried excitedly in the distance and the mature voices of older years carried through the lawn.

Her fingers captured blade after blade, pulling not so much the strand of grass snapped, but just enough so the plant became unsheathed from the ground. The afternoon wasn’t particularly busy. Nearly a week from spring break, the girl and her housemates didn’t have very much to worry about.

“Blimey, I sure do miss this,” Clair sighed behind her.

“Winter’s not that bad,” the brunette rolled her eyes, peeling her chest off the ground and brushing off the wood bits.

“Winter’s not that bad. But it’s not good either. Look at that sun! I mean, isn’t it nice to not be in your boots and jacket?”

“Yeah…it’s nice.”

The girls sat there a while. It felt good to be outside again. The spring Quidditch games would begin after the break and both were excited for them. While thinking of the games to come, and after mentioning the fact to the blonde beside her, a small shape in the sky caught the brunette’s eye. As it approached, it was clear the shape was a bird. By the time the creature was identifiable, the young herbologist knew it was an owl and whose owl it was. It was his own after all. The tawny specimen perched beside them, a bit of parchment around it’s ankle.

“PQ” was all the note said, scribbled sharp and messy. The couple had exchanged owl’s so often, they were well familiar with each other’s short-speak. She knew that, without a time written after the letters, he simply intended her to know he was turning in to his private quarters for the evening; even without his owl disembarking without waiting for a response, she understood his note was merely an update. They would meet there after dinner, anyway, so the girl pocketed the parchment and sat back against the tree with her bubbling companion.

~[…]~

“Hello,” she called, entering the little dormitory and shouldering off her leather satchel.

“In here,” came a low, garbled voice from behind the bathroom door. The girl popped off her shoes and undid her hair, slipping the accessories which had held her updo into her bag. Bare socks tip toed to the bathroom and her knuckles rapped lightly on the door before cracking it open.

The man stood over the sink beside the door and she was glad she opened the door slowly.

“Hi,” she said. The man tipped his head to her, his toothbrush dangling from the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward and spit, rinsing his brush.

“Hello there.” Severus’ wrist came up to wipe the sides of his mouth, then he leaned towards her and placed a kiss on her lips. Pleasantries were exchanged and the couple left the loo to stand by the window, warm cups in hand.

From his window, they couldn’t see much, just the forest. The Forbidden forest. She would be lying to herself if she said that she’d never thought about what could be kept within. Severus, on the other hand, wasn’t as apprehensive.

“Wait, have you been inside before?” The man quirked his eyebrow at her.

“Of course, I have. That great mass of shrubbery is only forbidden to students.”

“Get out! What did you go in there for?” The wizard looked at her knowingly, her name falling from his lips.

“You know as well as I that I am not at liberty to divulge such information.” The girl rolled her eyes and brought her cup to her lips. His arm snaked around her shoulders and he pressed her to him comfortingly. “There is little to nothing worth-while in there. Not at this time of year, at least. No. Nothing but great trolls who chase after nosy, wandering little girls and devour them!”

“ _Severus_ , stop it!” she laughed and tried to push him away as he buried his face in her neck, making munching sounds and kissing her jaw. He met her eyes, holding her by the waist, grinning. She stared back a moment, a small smile still held on her lips, looking between his shallow, black eyes. The spheres jumped to her neck. His tongue flicked out, moistening the center heart of his lips. They twitched into a smile and Severus returned his gaze to her face, hands letting go of the assertive grip they’d captured her hips in. Rather than latching to her jaw or neck, his slender lips pressed gently to her crown.

“Why are you holding back?” she whispered, startling him slightly. Startling herself. The man took a step back to look at her, but she followed him, still in his arms, one hand on his chest, the other still holding her teacup. They craned to see each other. Her name slipped from him.

“There is nothing to rush.”

“I agree,” she replied, squatting down to set her cup down next to his. “Nothing’s rushed.”

Her hands spread across his chest and up along his shoulders. Severus took in a shuddering breath. The man forced a smile, his hands wrapped around her wrists. Guiding her hands, he wrapped her arms around him and then reciprocated the gesture. The air left her in a hefty sigh, holding him tightly.

Why did he do this? It was a Sunday, a dull one, at that. Nearly a week of from Easter break and with most assignments completed about out of the minds of the teachers and students, alike. Who could possibly come at this late hour? What could Severus possibly be called to do? He was perfectly capable of applying a silencing charm…as was she…what more…?

“How is the NEWTs material coming along?” asked he.

“Good,” she replied, giving him one final squeeze, feeling the warmth of his chest before she continued. “I have it in my bag if you’d like to look over it with me.”

“Very well.”

The couple settled at the desk in his office, looking through papers, using up the daylight. When they decided they were both tired of work, the only illumination came from small lanterns around the room. They collapsed on the couch and sighed, falling into conversation. Eventually, the topic of the coming break arose.

“Have you got any plans?” asked she, their fingers intertwined, her head on his shoulder.

“None in particular,” he replied his head settling on top of hers. “I do plan to return home, but nothing out of the ordinary upon my arrival. Papers, lessons, boring, professor things.”

“‘Boring, professor things’,” she snorted.

“It’s true, I don’t do very much else,” he laughed back, softly.

“Do you live far from Hogwarts?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Where?”

“Why…” he began coyly, her formal name dripping from his lips. His hand untangled from hers and he curled it over her shoulders. “So many questions. Now, what could be your intentions?”

“None! I have none. I was only asking.” They snickered and he assured her he was only jesting in return.

“Are you from England?” asked he.

“Yes! Nottinghamshire. Beeston, specifically. Have you ever been?”

“Can’ t say I have. Have you been to Great Mancester?”

“Only in passing on the express.” He hummed in reply and there was a lull.

“Is that where you live?”

“…yes, in Stockport. Well, a bit out of the way.”

“I’ve heard wonderful things from Stockport! Is it lovely there?”

“No,” came the curt reply, “…but, I do miss it.”

“Oh.” A reply did not follow and the girl sank into him with a deep exhale.

While they lay there, she wondered what his home looked like. She saw something elegant and tidy, minimal. She would probably be afraid to touch anything, lest she put it out of place. As if she would ever step foot inside his home. She shook her head at herself. What ever they had was not meant to be out in the world. But, she could still think about his home, and she did. She pieced together rooms and bathrooms, bookshelves and kitchens. Suddenly, she wondered: did he live alone. The thought of him going home to something, or someone, hadn’t crossed her mind. Is that why he wouldn’t have sex with her…? Was Severus…with someone else? Her eyes dropped to his hand which had grabbed hers when he put his arm around her. There wasn’t a ring or evidence of a ring. He’d never acted suspiciously…

“Darling,” he mumbled against her hair and she wondered who he’d said that to before, “it’s getting late. Perhaps you should make an appearance in your house. Clair will begin to wonder, again.” He smiled against her head.

“Severus.”

“Yes,” he replied, pulling back and trying to look at her face, the tone in her voice enough to catch his attention. She hesitated, bit her lip. “What is it?” More hesitation.

“Are…are you married?”

He didn’t respond. She looked up to meet his guilty eyes, but found them wide.

“‘M-married’,” he gasped quietly. “ _Merlin_ , not at all. Why do you ask?” All at once she felt very foolish.

“Oh, bollocks. I don’t know what’s come over me!” The girl rubbed her face, embarrassed. “I just- I don’t know. I figured you must have someone back home. A wife, or a girlfriend, or someone. Someone holding you back from…from…you know.” Severus sat there across from her, the girl out of his arms now. He looked between her eyes before his expression melted and he whispered her name. She brought her eyes up to meet his.

“You…are the only woman I have ever had the honor to love this way and who has love me this way in return.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“You…love me?”

“What?” the potions master she knew shone through. He scowled at her and seemed just about to deduct a gut-wrenching number of points from Hufflepuff. “Are you _mad_? Of course, I love you, you foolish woman.” A bright grin bloomed across her face and she flung her arms forward capturing him around the shoulders and kissing him, giddy.

“I love you, too, Severus.”

When they eventually broke from snogging, she straddled him and his hands were just gracing the skin at her knees, his fingers dipping tentatively beneath the hem of her skirt. Deep sharp breaths left them. Severus’ fingers twitched against her skin. The young woman raked her hair back and leaned down to latch onto his lips once more. But, her name stopped her.

“This has been a lovely evening,” he continued, his lips brushing hers as he spoke, “but, your prefects will be wondering where you are.” The girl groaned, dejected. Lips locked once more before she dismounted.

At the door, she slipped on her loafers and Severus offered her her bag, his hair disheveled. The man opened the door for her and they bade each other goodbye.

The air was chilly in the dungeons outside his room. She knew the way, and she knew how to avoid getting caught. But, before she could get too far, he called out to her. The witch whipped around and replied.

“…come with me,” said he.

“What?”

“To Stockport. Come with me.”

“Severus,” she laughed, her heart starting to race, “what are you talking about?”

“The Easter break. _Come_ with me…please.” She hesitated, a smile growing on her face.

“What will I tell my parents?”

“Say…you decided to stay over the break to help a friend with work for next quarter.”  
“‘Boring, professor things’,” she grinned. For the first time ever, she watched him bite back a smile, his teeth pressing into the soft flesh of his bottom lip.

“Boring, professor things.”

“I’d love to.” She bounded over and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, feeling the tension melt out of his shoulders.


	14. Places, Progress, and Primrose Path

The break was finally here! The Hufflepuffs gathered in the common room chattering. All around her, students talked amongst themselves, the commons room the busiest it’s been in a long time. Clair, a couple of others, and she lounged on the couch, the early dawn streaming in through the semi-circle windows, filtering through the leaves of the potted plants in front of each one.

Mornings like this were sorely missed. Waking up early to catch the express, the students pouring into the halls from their houses, the hoard that was the student mixing and meshing while students of all ages emptied from the castle. Bleary-eyed and half-awake, those who weren’t early-risers slumped against their bags, desperate for a minute more of shut-eye. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, those who conquered the sun every morning laughed and chatted loudly, anxious to get on the tracks.

After half an hour or so, a prefect clamored through the barrel beside the brunette’s couch into the room. His voice carried through the room in his efforts to be heard over the din. Students quieted and listened to instructions, years beginning to line up and exit. The witch watched the bodies pass her, a great mass of charcoal, black, and yellow, when her name was heard above her head. She tipped her chin to meet the eyes of a fifth-year who was seated next to Clair.

“Are you not coming?”

“Nah,” Clair cut in before she could respond. “She’s abandoned me to ‘get some work done here’.” The blonde rolled her eyes playfully and the witch on the couch grinned, then stuck her tongue out. But, she replaced her tongue and hopped up, stepping over the arms of the couches to wrap her arms around Clair.

“Have a pleasant trip,” the young woman whispered.

“It will be without your droning on about bloody hibiscus,” retorted the blonde, but squeezed her friend tighter.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, you better.” And with that, they were out the barrel with a wave.

By the time the last of the seventh years had taken their leave, the sixth year had bounded up to the girls’ dormitory and dragged her traveling bag from beneath her bunk. Out of the barrel she flew, looking about for people she ought not to let see her making haste to the dungeons. On her way there, however, a little wizard entered her mind. Sitting in his glass office, surrounded by the vibrant foliage, neglected for the first spring break since she had developed a love for herbology. With her feet already at the door to Severus’ quarters, she knew she could not leave without saying “goodbye”. When the door was opened to her and she was greeted by a potions master who looked very much as if he were suppressing bubbling glee, she gave him an apologetic look, placed a kiss on his cheek, and handed him her bag, assuring him she would be back as soon as she finished just one last thing.

The journey to the gardens was, understatedly, a long one; seeing as the greenhouses were at the other side of the castle. She half-ran and half-speed-walked through the halls, past some stray Ravenclaws and almost into a couple of faculty members, then out the doors.

The air was warm, the ground was wet. Her loafers squelched in the grass, her feet nearly slipping out from under her a couple of times. The young woman slid to the greenhouse, her throat on fire, mouth dry. When she pushed through the door, she had very little voice to call out to the old wizard in the back office. Her panting, however, was enough to catch his attention in the quiet greenhouse.

“Little miss,” he greeted her with a warm smile, pushing up his regular spectacles.

“Hello…professor,” she gasped, grinning sheepishly, her hands on her knees.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? We already assessed the houses for the break.”

“I know,” she replied, her breath returning. “I just wanted to wish you a good break.”

“Oh,” he replied, bashful. “That’s very kind of you, thank you. And you have a lovely break, as well.” They hugged briefly and she took her leave.

~[…]~

“Where is your traveling cloak?” Severus asked, zipping his travel baggage.

“I…uh, I haven’t got one.” He hummed in reply.

Their bags were set by the door and the room was fixed up. Her stomach made a sound and she asked about breakfast.

“Mustn’t. The staff that _has_ stayed will be occupied there. This is our only chance for a while.” The way he said it sent a thrill of excitement through her, to her surprise. Her heart raced in her chest. What if they were caught? Adventure called her. She bit back a grin.

“What if we’re caught?” asked she. The man smirked down at her, unlatching the cloak from around his shoulders and swinging it over hers. She protested, but he hushed her.

“You have no faith in my power, love.” Latching the fabric at her neck, careful of her collar, he pulled her to him and kissed her as she giggled back. Slender hand captured the hem of her hood, pulling it lightly over her head.

~[…]~

How they escaped unseen was a mystery to her. Her body had buzzed with adrenaline, walking fast enough to make haste but not so much that they would immediately seem suspicious if they were seen from the castle windows. The couple had made a sure course to the Forbidden Forest, her heart pounding with excitement as they neared the outskirts of the trees. Her hands had clamored for the excess fabric of his cloak, trying not trip. She’d never seen Severus travel so quickly. With his long legs, the woman was even more hard-pressed to keep up. When they had broken through the trees she released the small bit of breath she’d been holding, relieved. Only, Severus continued walking just as fast deeper still. Once they were out of the reach of the anti-apparation charm on the castle, he pulled her to him, catching her off-guard and he mumbled something. She’d only ever read about apparation. Experiencing it for the first time hadn’t been as fantastical as she’d hoped.

Pulled and twisted in every direction, the witch doubled over once her feet met the ground. A wave of nausea passed over her and she stood, wiping the hood off her head, trying to pull fresh air into her lungs. Instead, what she pulled in was a mixture of something dense and musty and something hazy and charred. Looking around, she found herself standing at the bank of a black river, grimy and slow-moving. The woman looked around at the place they were in, turning about slightly.

“Come along,” said he, and she turned back around. He stood at the top of the bank, his hand outstretched to her. She took his hand and scrambled up the yellow, dead grass, her eyes falling on the little town that was settled a distance away.

The tops of all the little, dark, brick buildings were the same, the village leveled off cleaner than a scythe does a row of wheat. At the far end, near the tail of the river, there sat a great mill, its chimney tall and skinny, towering.

Their shoes clacked on the muddy cobblestone path leading into the town, but, other than that, there was only silence between them. She sensed a different kind of air emanating from Severus. Tense, dark, ominous. The couple walked for several blocks, weaving down streets and alleyways, passing only a couple of souls along the way. At once, they reached the end of a long street, the road opening out in the open country, grey and lonely.

Severus turned to one of the identical, brick houses and made his way up the dusty steps to the front door. Her eyes widened at the sight of the man beside her producing a small set of keys, his wand protruding from his pocket. The young woman craned her neck, looking to see if anyone was down any of the streets. When the door fell forward, the man caught it by the handle and held it cracked open.

He froze. Staring at the handle. His jaw clenched.

She looked from his face to his pale hand, gripping the brass knob so tightly, the blue veins pressed through the thin skin of his hand, then back again. Dark eyes were cast in shadow, shifting back and forth, processing. His tongue flicked out and wet his lips, his teeth testing the resistance of the moistened flesh briefly.

“Severus,” she whispered cautiously. He didn’t respond. “ _Severus_.”

He straightened abruptly, sucking in a sharp breath. After clearing his throat, he pushed through the door. The witch paused a moment, then stepped through the threshold.

Inside, the room was dark. The door kicked up a small plumb of dust and the particles swirled, catching in the small, grey light trickling through the windows. The room was small, but it held very much. An armchair and a small sofa were nestled together in the sitting room, a twee reading light by the chair. A small table rested in front of them both and a flat, worn carpet covered dusty floor-boards. The few items which were available to catch her attention only did so for moments. Standing in the small room, her eyes went wide with marvel at the stacks of books that lined the walls. Her eyes did manage to catch a small fireplace, but only before her eyes settled on the man standing stiffly by the shut door.

He stared at the ground by his feet, the from door latching shut. She took a step forward and opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong.

“I should have never brought you here,” he hissed, sneering at the ground.

“What?”

“I should not have brought you here.” He shook his head, almost telling himself, raking his long fingers through his hair.

“What? No, _no._ Severus, Severus, Severus,” she reassured quickly, closing the distance between them and placing a hand on his cheek. “Ay, what do you mean?… I love it.”

His eyes flicked up to her, wide and soft, the eyelashes brushing his slender eyebrows, the short, black hairs pulled inward. A small smile turned the corners of her lips. “I love it…here.” Severus’ eyes pinched at the ends and he pressed a small kiss to the corner of her smile. Relief flooded through her. Hopefully, after this week, they would have fewer interactions such as these.

With some more coaxing, they found themselves upstairs, the access being a door hidden by a bookshelf which was hung on it. The steps were dark to the top floor. At the landing, she could feel a door to her right, but Severus encouraged her forward. The second door on her right, the last and only other room, was opened and she squinted against the harsh grey light.

About the same size as the sitting room below, the bedroom held two windows on either side of the full-sized bed, a large cupboard and drawer, and a shockingly tiny bookshelf. Something about it felt very private, not just because it was a bedroom, but because of whose bedroom it was. Her toes waited by the threshold, her nose peeking in only as much as she dared to observe the room presented to her.

“Yours,” came his baritone rumbled from the darkness in the hall. Hers? Would they not be staying…together? Rather than find the courage to protest, the young woman slipped into the room and looked about at the dusty, brick walls and irregular grey ceiling. “You may put your things in here,” said he, opening drawer after drawer and vanishing the contents of each. Then, he cracked one door of the great closet and vanished its contents as well, she believed. Turning to face her, he stood stiffly and she did also, awkward in the middle of the unfamiliar room, her travel bag, sitting on her toes, the only bright-colored thing. After a moment, he looked about then said, “make yourself at home” and left, closing the door behind him.

It was quick work to put away her things in the drawers and hang the appropriate articles, the great, copper washtub at the bottom of the cupboard catching her eye. Shoes, she supposed, she placed under the lip of the closet. After checking, and confirming that the windows were unable to open, the woman turned about on her heels and flopped onto the bed. A plumb of dust arose and she coughed, waving her hands about to clear the air. She popped off the bed and bounded to her satchel, producing her wand.

Tapping here and waving there, she tentatively levitated the contents of the bed, clearing them of the fine layer they’d accumulated. Replacing them and leveling out the blanket with a sharp tug of a corner. She tossed her wand back onto the bed and began stripping, desperate to feel clothes other than her uniform on her. The brunette chose a muted-toned jumper and some jeans, running a brush through her hair.

No sounds came from next door, in the other room, so she made her way carefully down the steps her way illuminated by the tip of her wand. Finding the handle of the door, she pushed into the sitting room. Severus was just coming out of the kitchen, but his eyes widened when he saw her and the man hissed her name.

“ _Nox_ ” he snapped, producing his wand so quickly she didn’t understand what was happening before the tip of her wand was extinguished. Her face flushed and she gripped her wand nervously as he approached, suddenly very anxious and feeling as if she’d done something very wrong. “We have to watch our magic here,” he began, his tone significantly softer once he stood before her, his hand placed over the hand which held her wand. “That sort of light isn’t natural here.” Her eyes flitted out the window. Among a few boarded windows, a curtain was disturbed across the street. A sick feeling overcame her, thinking of all the unpacking she’d done upstairs.

“Are we the only magical-folk here?”

“Yes.”

“Are we suspected?” She found herself whispering, her heart pounding. He stared at her for a moment before a smile twitched at his lips, startling her.

“Naturally. But, there is no proof against me, or you, for that matter. There are merely suspicions and those who are tormented by such foolish worries have nothing to do with them. They suspected my mother, and my father, the lot of dunderheads. But, could never prove anything against the one of us three who hadn’t a magical bone in his body. Therefore” -he tapped his wand to his hooked nose gently and winked, her breath catching in her chest- “no one is or was able to ever garner enough support in pursuit of exposing my mother or me.”

Having released her hand, to her reluctance, he pocketed his own wand. With a glance out the window, Severus turned to make his way to the kitchen. “Fancy a cuppa?”

“Yes, thank you!”

+(---)+

Flipping about stiff cot, the horrid thing unused for years, Severus forced his body to feel comfortable. Springs dug into his bony shoulders and his linens hadn’t been fixed up since long before the second war. It was still as cramped as he’d recollected. Turning over for the hundredth time, the man dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. His mind was awake, it could not be helped.

Ears perked at every sound. Eyes pulled shapes from the darkness and, suddenly, everything was her. The girl, standing by the door, by the window, beside the bed. She dominated his thoughts. Pitch black eyes followed the seams of the brick walls, wondering if he’d made the right decision placing them in separate rooms. They’d never slept in the same bed together before. Anxious thoughts filled him. Had he given the wrong impression? Narrow teeth sucked in his cheek, the thin film of flesh slipping quickly back into place. Just as he was about to take in the inside of his cheek once more, the quick, distinct click of a latch echoed in the hall, interrupting his ruminations. The man sat up, a strong beat pulsing in his chest.

Ears caught the faint tapping of bare feet. Eyes watched the warm glow of fire pass beneath his door from the hallway. The brunet was out of bed without a moment’s more hesitation. Composing himself, he pulled his door open slowly, so as to not startle her. Popping his head out, a lock falling in his face before he flicked it away, whispering her name.

The young woman tensed and turned on her heel, halfway down the stairs, a sheepish grin creeping onto her features. His name fell lightly from her soft lips.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered back, an apologetic look flashing across her face. The lantern she held was lifted near her face, illuminating her features, casting her in a warm glow. Her hair was slightly tossed, evident of having just come from bed. Having never had the liberty to witness her in anything other than her uniform, a few formal ensembles, and occasional casual-wear, the cotton nightgown captured his sights. When he was not able to force his eyes to hers, he looked away, steeling his expression as best he could.

“Not at all,” replied he, clearing his throat against the slight catch he encountered in his voice. “I was awake already and heard you come out…Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes! I only meant to pop out to use to the loo.”

“Right.” His eyes jumped up to meet hers, but not before they observed the light enveloping the delicate bones of her collar, her neck exposed by the wide, square collar. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Severus.”

The man shut the door quietly behind him but turned and pressed his back to it. Resisting the urge to exhale violently, he waited until the sound of the door to the sitting room reached him before releasing the air trapped in his lungs. His heart raced, feeling dense in his chest. Long, skinny fingers raked back his hair, releasing a sharp breath through his nose.

His body fell back onto the stiff cot, the linens already having lost what little heat he had proved them. If this would be the arrangement for the week, it would be very long for him. Severus tossed and turned for a few minutes more, his nerves settled, his shoulder already uncomfortable. His dark eyes shut tightly, forcing sleep. But, when the small sound of the sitting room door unlatching sounded in the hall, his eyes flew open.

They flicked to the bottom of his door, the impossibly faint glow growing as she climbed the steps. He waited until she passed, waiting to hear the sound of her entry into what was usually his room, knowing she was slipping into his bed. But, the light stopped, glowing bright outside his door. Her hand made a single light tap before he threw the meager linens from him, racing silently to the door and opening it at a reasonable pace.

She stood just outside, her bright eyes looking at him. They greeted each other with whispers and when he inquired her presence, she hesitated. The young woman shifted for a few moments, choosing her words, before parting her lips and meeting his eyes.

“Severus…We’re…we’re together you know.”

“Yes,” he replied, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“And, well, I’m not sure how you feel, but…it would be lovely if we could…if we could sleep in the same bed…together…tonight.” As she continued, her eyes fell to her feet, but his mind raced. Had he heard her properly? After swallowing and blinking several times, he parted his dry lips.

“Yes, of course.” Their eyes met.

She handed him the lantern, and he took it as she took his other hand, guiding him to his own room.

Once inside, the man felt acutely aware of his limbs. His thin hand perspiring in hers, his bare feet traversing the dusty floor, his legs brushing the fabric of his sleeping robe. At the foot of the bed, she let go of his hand and he fought the urge to recapture hers. He stood there a moment, a stranger in his own room, before he made his way to the other side of the bed, setting the lantern down. They slipped under his blankets; the dark sheets already warm from her. Once under, she promptly slotted against him and he tensed, his heart stopping. His arms stayed at his side, the young woman curled against his arm.

“Is this alright?” she whispered faintly.

“Yes,” he responded quicker than he intended, his voice coming out thickly. He looked down at her.

Her eyes studied his chest, the buttons of his gown. Following after her eyes, a hand uncurled and tentatively spread across his chest. He flinched at the sensation, a deep breath taken in against his will, pushing his lean chest back into her warm hand. A hum at the feeling escaped him and he covered it by clearing his throat. She looked up at him and he nearly avoided her eyes but felt foolish acknowledging the desire. He met her eyes confidently, staring back at her as she did him, her hand burning into his chest.

His eyes studied hers, trailing down to her lips, plush and parted. Returning to her eyes, he made to take his arm out from between them. Once liberated, however, he was unsure how to proceed. Only, she lifted her head and he followed her, slipping his arm beneath her. Suddenly, they were much closer.

Her head rested on the joining of his arm and shoulder, close enough to kiss. Their bodies pressed together and her warmth radiated into him. Pulling her hand back to curl against him, the woman tilted her head and pressed her lips to his. The pulse palpitated in his chest, his mind feeling fuzzy, his hands buzzed with energy. When they parted, his hands and arms had captured her, pressing her to him. She hummed a quiet laugh against his lips, pecking him once more before burrowing into his chest.

He lay there stunned, his heart pounding, the pulse persisting as the thought of her very-likely being able to hear if not feel it beating against her hands returned again and again to his mind. But, eventually, it settled and, as her breathing slowed, so did his.

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright Ella Miramontes 2020 ©


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